


Welcome to Republic City

by thatsparrow



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - The Legend of Korra, F/M, Pro-Bending, that is entirely too much fun to write, this is a ridiculous au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4632057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsparrow/pseuds/thatsparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t try to do anything fancy or aggressive. In fact, best if you don't do anything.”</p><p>“Charming, captain. You say that to all the girls?”</p><p>-- </p><p>Or, The Legend of Korra/Pro-Bending AU that sort of demanded to be written (and by that, I mean I demanded it of myself)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stepping into the stadium, the first thing Clarke noticed was how _goddamn loud_ it was. 

In fairness, she probably shouldn’t have expected any less. After having spent close to a year studying in the South Pole— a place where silence became a dictate enforced by both her teachers as well as the relentless environment—just being back in Republic City felt like a constant assault on her senses. While she’d eventually adjusted to a world colored beyond the shades of winter, the ever-present and overwhelming masses of people still persisted in sparking feelings of anxiety — now, standing in a stadium packed to the _fucking rafters_ with aggressively overzealous pro-bending fans, Clarke couldn’t help but wonder what _the fuck_ she’d been thinking.

Sure, being here would do a fine job of pissing off her mother, but after being jostled and knocked against the low barrier fucking _again_ , Clarke thought she might be taking this whole teenage rebellion thing a little farther than intended. In fact, she was so distracted by her internal debate to either stick it out or run for the hills that she nearly missed the arrival of the first team.

“ _Introducing, Skaikru!”_

_Shit_ — and she’d thought it’d been loud before. The announcer had barely finished saying the name of the fan-favorite underdogs when the noise from the crowd veritably doubled, painfully deafening cheers of adoration filling the already packed stadium as the three members of Skaikru stepped off the lift into the arena. Fighting the temptation to plug her ears against the noise, the idea of spending the rest of the night somewhere familiar and comfortable and _quiet_ suddenly seemed more and more appealing.

“ _The rookies of Skaikru have come out of nowhere and are off to an exciting start this season — but tonight folks, they’ll be facing a tough match. Please welcome, the Riversnakes!”_

And even though she had to fight to keep her footing and could feel the crowds behind her pushing her up against the barrier, there was something about watching the two teams square up in the arena that kept her rooted to her spot. She could leave…but, well, she was already here, wasn’t she? It’d be shortsighted to leave before the match had even begun, right?

“ _And they’re off!”_

From skimming radio stations and the little she’d overheard on her walks around the city, Clarke had a passing familiarity with the rules and major players of pro-bending. She’d heard brief snippets of the matches and she knew the games were rough and violent and fast but _holy hell_ she had _never_ seen bending like this. From the minute the bell had been struck, all six players began ducking and shooting and moving fluidly at a rate almost too fast for Clarke to keep up. Unconsciously, her hands gripped the railing tighter as she leaned forward, eyes focused on the rapid-fire action taking place in the arena as Skaikru and the Riversnakes shot quick and continuous barrages back and forth across the center line.

_“The two teams waste no time trying to blast each other out of zone one — Murphy is the first to feel the heat of the Riversnakes as they push him back towards zone two. It looks like he might be able to — oh no! With that vicious one-two fire and earth combo from the Riversnakes, Murphy has been sent straight back into zone two!”_

It looked fucking _brutal_ too — Skaikru’s waterbender, Murphy, had seemed a step behind from the start, pulling silvery streams of water from the reserves with just enough time to blunt the Riversnake attacks, hardly managing to get in a strike or two of his own. But more and more of the Riversnake strikes were getting through his defenses, punching through the inky-black of Skaikru’s armor and sending him to the mat on more than one occasion. Clarke could tell—and so could the Riversnakes—that he wasn’t going to keep himself in zone one much longer. Still caught off-guard from the last attack, Murphy quickly bent a makeshift shield for himself to stop the Riversnake earthbender’s next strike, getting rid of the brunt of the force and never noticing the flames that shot him straight over the line. He landed hard on the mat, getting to his feet agonizingly slowly as the Riversnake fans cheered at the victory.

“ _Looks like that last hit from the Riversnakes has left Murphy a little unsteady and close to the edge of zone three. Let’s see if the rest of his team can keep it together enough to score themselves a win in this round. Over in zone one, Miller is once again demonstrating the trademark precision of his earthbending style, sending hit after hit towards the Riversnakes. But it doesn’t look like it’s going to be enough, folks, as — oh! It looks like one of Murphy’s waterbending strikes ended up missing the mark and hit Miller instead! Capitalizing on that unexpected distraction, the Riversnakes have sent Miller tumbling straight back to join Murphy in zone two.”_

“What the hell!” Clarke shouted, her voice lost in the frustrated shouts and mocking jeers of the crowd. Down in the arena, the fight was still a furious back-and-forth, but Skaikru were clearly losing their momentum as Murphy was violently thrown out of zone two, skidding past the zone three marker and falling straight into the water below.

“ _And that’s time, folks. Round one goes to the Riversnakes!”_

Down in the arena, Clarke could see the Skaikru captain giving Murphy an earful as he rode the lift back up and the two teams squared off for round two. 

_“Skaikru seems to be off to something of a rough start tonight — let’s see if they can pull it together for round two.”_

The bell rang, kicking off the action yet again, but this time there was a level of focus and fury channeled into the Skaikru shots that had been lacking in the prior round. Clarke watched as the Skaikru captain and their earthbender, Miller, sent relentless and coordinated attacks at the Riversnakes, pummeling all three members into zone two with a speed and ferocity that seemed to take the whole stadium by surprise.

“ _Would you look at that, folks! There’s a glimpse of some of that talent that’s got everyone raving about Skaikru. With that spectacular assault, Skaikru has been given the green light to advance into Riversnake territory.”_

With their move forward onto the Riversnake side of the arena, Skaikru couldn’t be stopped, eventually pushing the Riversnakes back into zone three and tying up the match with the win from round two.

“ _What an adjustment! Thanks to that unbeatable teamwork between Miller and Bellamy, round two goes definitively to Skaikru. It’s all tied up and with two teams so evenly matched, round three is anybody’s game.”_

For the third and final time, the two teams settled into position. At the sound of the bell, the back-and-forth commenced again, Skaikru and the Riversnakes matching each other step for step. Responding to the brutal Skaikru attacks from the previous round, the Riversnakes quickly focused their target on Miller, sending shot after shot at the earthbender until he crossed the line into zone two. 

“ _Going into our third round, Miller just cannot stand up to those Riversnake attacks and has already been pushed back into zone two. He is doing his best but it looks like his best is just not enough this time and there he goes! Struck by a rapid-fire series of Riversnake attacks, Miller is out of zone two, into zone three, and straight into the water! Folks, this does not look promising for Skaikru as it’s down to two against three.”_

_“_ Come on, come on, come on.” Clarke said under her breath, shoulders tensing as Skaikru gave ground again with Bellamy and Murphy simultaneously knocked back into zone two. Her nails tapped nervously on the railing as the Riversnakes moved forward, trapping Murphy up against the ropes until the Riversnake firebender delivered a decisive shot that— _fuck_ —sent him tumbling into the water to join Miller. 

“ _And it seems like this might be the end for Skaikru — it’s one against three and with Bellamy on the brink of zone three, the Riversnakes can taste victory. They are relentlessly pursuing that knockout folks, and—wait—it looks like Bellamy has stopped returning fire! The Skaikru captain is weaving his way through the Riversnake shots but he is not fighting back! And it looks like the Riversnakes have nothing left in the tank and there he goes back on the offensive!”_

Out of energy, out of effort, the Riversnakes were left defenseless as Bellamy began his attack, the clock ticking down towards the finale as he sent the Riversnakes back into zone two.

_“I can’t believe it folks, I simply can’t believe it. Fighting singlehandedly against the Riversnakes, Bellamy has pushed them back from zone one all the way to zone three and there they go! Straight into the water landing Skaikru with the win after the most unexpected upset of the tournament. Skaikru wins!”_

As cheers for Skaikru—and Bellamy in particular—seemed to shake the stadium, Clarke found that she’d nearly yelled herself hoarse in similar admiration, unexpectedly astounded and moved and strangely endeared by the Skaikru rookies. She could feel the bruises she’d develop soon enough from being pressed against the railing and fighting to keep her spot, the ringing in her ears that would persist long after she’d left the stadium, and knew that her voice would certainly be gone the next morning — but really, all she could focus on was the next time she’d be able to come back. 


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m telling you, Raven, it was _in-fucking-credible_.” Clarke said, pausing from her pacing around the garage to take a seat on the floor. Resting her back against the wall, arms propped up on her knees, she shook her head slightly as she relived the rush of adrenaline she’d felt at seeing Skaikru win.

“I’m still having trouble believing that you—Clarke ‘I’ve spent more time in the past year meditating than communicating with actual human beings’ Griffin—actually went to a pro-bending match.” Raven looked up from where she was working on the car’s engine long enough to laugh at the dazed look on Clarke’s face. 

“Honestly, that makes two of us,” she said, unbending her knees and resting her legs on the floor . “Hell—I _never_ knew bending could look like that.” As exciting and memorable as Skaikru’s surprise win had been, Clarke couldn’t stop thinking about the match itself — fixating on the fluidity and intensity and power of the pro-bending style. Now, having seen what bending could look like, practicing the movements of her own traditional waterbending style felt agonizingly stiff and slow in comparison. 

With the rag she’d left lying on the hood, Raven wiped the grease from her hands and took a seat next to Clarke, legs stretched out on the cement. Overhead, a light breeze blew through the open window, lightly disturbing the blanket of hot air that had settled in the dim and overheated building. The Future Industries garage was by no means the ideal place to relax on a blisteringly hot summer afternoon, but it had the benefit of being far enough removed from the Griffin estate that Clarke was unlikely to be overheard or disturbed by her mother. It also helped that Raven essentially lived here as well — the skilled mechanic almost constantly at work on new Future Industries projects or tinkering around to improve the current designs. 

“You’ve been, right? I mean did you know it was like _that_?” Clarke looked over at Raven, hands in the process of readjusting her ponytail and pushing several strands of hair back off her forehead, leaving a faint trail of dirt behind.

Raven nodded. “A few times while you were gone, sort of in the middle of last year’s tournament,” she said, leaning back to rest her head against the garage wall. “Fun as hell — letting yourself get caught up in the environment and the crowd and the unpredictability of the match,” she said, and Clarke remembered the feeling well from her own experience a few short days ago.

“So what's next?” Raven asked, nudging Clarke’s foot with her own. “Got that rebellious kick out of your system yet? Or—better yet—are you planning some sort of heist that you need my involvement with?”

“Not just yet.” Clarke said, eyes following the falling dust motes as they drifted lazily towards the ground. “I want to go back.”

Raven paused, frowning, the light and joking tone quickly fading from her voice. “You sure that’s a good idea? Not that I don’t trust your judgement, Clarke, it’s just…I mean, the last time something like this happened—“

“I know.” 

“I’m just saying—in case you’ve forgotten—that ended with you getting shipped to the South Pole for almost a year.” A look of concern quickly crossed Raven’s features, briefly drawing her brows together. “You knew how Abby felt about—“

“I know.”

“And you know how she feels about pro-bending. You sure you want to risk that again?”

Clarke took a breath, her fingers absently winding around her blonde curls. “This is different. Last time, I acted like an idiot, and—trust me—I’m well aware of that. But everything going to shit? Come on, that was out of my hands,” she said quietly, “a stroke of just _damn_ bad luck.” She paused, face impassive. “My mom’s response, though…sending me away was as much about preserving her reputation as it was about teaching me a lesson.” She looked over at Raven’s unimpressed expression and attempted to look reassuring. “Believe me, what happened before isn’t going to happen again.”

“You mean you being an idiot? I think we both know that’s not a promise you can keep.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, knocking Raven’s shoulder with her own as a lighthearted smile quickly crossing her features. “Ass. And here I was, looking to see if you wanted to come with me to the next match.” 

Raven brushed off her palms and stood, offering Clarke a hand up from the floor. “I guess I can be persuaded,” she said with a slight grin, “after all, someone has to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

 

—

 

Knees slightly bent, light on his feet, Miller shifted back and forth with practiced ease before sending two of the gym’s earthbending discs slamming into the back of the net. Around the room, stacks of similar discs rested on the scuffed and well-worn wood, sitting alongside the troughs of water and practice dummies that waited for the remaining members of his team. Sure, there was nothing quite like hearing the sound of a full stadium cheering for Skaikru, but he couldn’t deny the appeal of the peace and quiet offered by the gym. He paused, took a sip of water, and threw three consecutive discs into the net from the stack next to him. Stretched the muscles in his shoulders, reset his position—

“Alright, where the _fuck_ is he?”

“Afternoon captain.” Miller threw another set of discs across the room before moving to recover them. “I take it Murphy is still missing?”

“I have checked this whole _goddamn stadium_ and that _pathetic asshole_ is fucking _nowhere_.” Bellamy fumed, punctuating his words with shots of fire into the practice dummy across the room. “We were due to start practice a fucking _hour_ ago.” He started pacing around the gym, flames dancing and flickering around the edges of his fingertips. “That _useless fucking dick_.” Bellamy seethed, his words rising to a yell as he threw a fist through the mannequin, leaving behind small sparking embers.

With the routine of someone used to putting out Bellamy’s fires, Miller headed over to the dummy and doused the sparks. “Look, I am in no way trying to defend him—Murphy is a dick, I think we can both agree on that—but, on the other hand, getting pissed and destroying our practice equipment _might_ not be an incredibly productive solution.”

Bellamy glared silently before quietly acceding and taking a seat on one of the benches, letting the flames on the surface of his skin flicker out.

“Sorry, Miller.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m just so fucking tired of this. We barely scraped by with a win against the Riversnakes and we should have fucking _killed them_.” 

Miller nodded slowly, “I’m not disagreeing.”

“And we both know—hell, that whole damn _crowd_ knows—that his fuck-ups nearly cost us the match.”

“Again, no arguments here.”

Bellamy let out a slow breath, running a hand through his already mussed curls, “fuck Murphy. I’m just fucking done.” He rested his arms on his legs, dropping his head.

“Look, cap,” Miller said, pausing from his repetitions, “I’m with you, you know that.” He leaned against the wall beside Bellamy and looked down. “So what do you want to do?” 

Belllamy frowned slightly, face pensive. “We need him, for now at least. Our next match is in just a few days and—while he might be the biggest fucking asshole Republic City’s ever seen—he does know how to fight.”

“Usually because he’s the one starting them.”

Bellamy allowed a brief smile to cross his face. “True.”

“So he stays?” Miller asked, waiting to gauge Bellamy’s reaction.

“For now.” Bellamy stood, “but soon as we can, you and I start looking for a new waterbender.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (did Bellamy say a new waterbender? oh man...wonder who that could be...)
> 
> oh wow, oh wow -- okay to all you wonderful folk who left kudos and comments and bookmarks and swung by to check out my ridiculous au -- thank you so, so much! so far, I am having an incredible amount of fun playing around in this universe and I am just so goddamn happy that there are those of you who are getting some enjoyment out of reading this. chapter two was a little trickier to write (and something of a filler) but hopefully works as a nice follow? 
> 
> and hopefully updates remain similarly regular (though I honestly can't promise anything)


	3. Chapter 3

 

_“Welcome back, folks, to what promises to be another thrilling round in this year’s tournament. Tonight, returning after last week's eleventh-hour knockout victory, Skaikru will be facing off against their next challenge — please welcome to the arena, the Acid Wasps!”_

Around Clarke and Raven, the cheers from the crowd intensified as the two teams took their positions down below, Skaikru black standing opposite the yellow-green of the Acid Wasps.

“So who are we rooting for again?” Raven asked, glancing over at Clarke, whose eyes were firmly locked on the players in the arena.

“Skaikru,” she responded — the words said almost as a reflex. Granted, her exposure to pro-bending consisted of little more than the one prior match she’d attended, but there was no denying she’d been spellbound by the seamless teamwork and unmistakable power of Skaikru’s teammates. 

“That have anything to do with Bellamy Blake?” Raven asked, eyebrows quirked up as she made little effort to hide her amusement.

Clarke frowned slightly, confusion crinkling her brow, “what do you mean?” She asked, still keeping one eye on the arena as the announcer finished the introductions.

“Come on Clarke, we both know I essentially live in that garage but even _I_ know that he’s winning the attention of nearly every girl in Republic City.” She gave Clarke a teasing nudge, “you’re trying to tell me that those ridiculous freckles aren’t part of the reason we’re standing here rooting for Skaikru?” 

She paused, Raven’s words having stirred a memory. _Ridiculous freckles…?_

”Oh! _That’s_ who that is?”

Because _of course_ she’d seen his picture before, Raven having it right when she’d said that damn near every girl in Republic City was falling head-over-heels for that strong jawline and face that was fairly painted with freckles. She had known what he looked like, sure, but last week at the stadium she'd been far enough from the action that the faces of the teams had been little more than a blur. Somehow, it wasn’t until Raven’s comments sparked the connection that Clarke realized the dark and messy curls she’d been hearing so much about belonged to none other than Skaikru’s firebending captain.

Raven laughed at Clarke’s look of sudden revelation. “Should’ve known you were _actually_ just in it for the bending,” she said as the sound of the bell cut sharply through the din of the stadium.

“ _And they’re off!”_  

 

—

 

_“After two rounds of brutal back-and-forth, Skaikru and the Acid Wasps head into the third and final round with a point each. Tonight, folks, both teams are bringing their all to this competition and it is still anybody’s game. Taking a decisive lead in the first round, Skaikru managed to send two of the Acid Wasps into the water but could just not pull off the knockout they needed to secure the match. We’ve seen some unbelievable teamwork here tonight between Miller and Bellamy of Skaikru but will it be enough to pull off the round three victory they need to win?”_

From the start, the match had kept Clarke and Raven out of their seats, nearly cheering themselves hoarse as Skaikru had come agonizingly close to a knockout victory before falling back and losing the next round to the Acid Wasps. But _hell_ — watching Murphy’s waterbending was driving Clarke _up the fucking wall_. Clearly presenting himself as the weak link on the Skaikru team, he’d spent the past two rounds pursued relentlessly by the opposing team and doing a _miserable fucking failure_ of avoiding their hits or fighting back. _Shit,_ she wasn’t even one of his teammates and she was damn near ready to throw him into the water herself. 

“ _Kicking off the third round, looks like the Acid Wasps have managed to hang onto that round two momentum that earned them their point, sending Skaikru back towards the edge of zone one and they are getting dangerously close to that zone two line. If Skaikru can’t manage to regain their round one rhythm, they may be closing the book early on their first pro-bending season.”_

“Get it together, you dicks!” Raven shouted, shaking her head in disappointment as they watched Murphy stumble into the path of an Acid Wasp attack that sent him skidding back into zone two. “Is this annoying you as much as it's annoying me?” Raven asked.

Clarke paused to quickly cheer on Miller, whose one-two earthbending strike succeeded in knocking two of the Acid Wasps back to zone two, before responding, “holy _shit_ , yes.”

_“We are ticking closer to the end here, folks, and so far, neither team has taken the upper hand. With both Skaikru and Acid Wasp having members in zone two and looking to stay there, this match may very well be settled in a tiebreaker round.”_

“Tiebreaker?” Clarke asked, noting carefully the style and movements of the Acid Wasp waterbender.

“Really? You drag me all the way down here and still don’t know the rules?”

“I mean I know _most_ of them,” Clarke said, her face slightly sheepish. “But cut me some slack — this is still only my second match.”

“Alright, alright,” Raven said, hands up in mock surrender, “I suppose your lack of knowledge can be forgiven considering the whole ‘unofficial year-long exile’ thing.”

“How charitable.”

“You know me.” She paused, watching as Bellamy took a hit that sent him reeling back into zone two. “Though it looks like you’ll get to see a tiebreaker in action soon enough.” Down in the arena, the final bell rang, signaling the end of the match. 

_“Round three is a tie! With both Skaikru and the Acid Wasps having an equal number of players in zones one and two, we head into a tiebreaker face-off to decide the game.”_

A referee headed into the ring as the two teams met in the middle, waiting for the coin flip.

“ _And the coin toss goes to Skaikru! After some deliberation, it looks like Miller will be entering the ring for Skaikru, to be joined by the Acid Wasp earthbender, Atom.”_

Clarke watched as the two earthbenders stepped forward into the center while the rest of their teammates fell back, the central ring slowly rising out of the arena to form a small raised platform.

“So, whoever’s knocked off the platform first, wins?” Clarke asked, the two earthbenders shifting into position down below as they waited for the sound of the bell.

Raven nodded in response, “and it’s always the same element facing off against each other.” Around them, the crowd waited in anticipation for the round to begin.

_“And there they go! Atom goes in for the grapple and — oh! He is thrown by Miller and teetering on the edge of the ring. Looks like he’s got his bearings back, sending a series of rapid-fire strikes towards Miller. The Skaikru earthbender has dropped to the mat, returning Atom’s attack with a couple well-placed shots that have the Acid Wasp stumbling. He is on the edge folks and — there he goes! After a devastating midair strike from Miller, Atom is out of the ring and straight into the water. Skaikru wins!”_

The resulting din of the crowd seemed to veritably shake the stadium itself, Clarke and Raven’s own cheers immediately swallowed into the overwhelming mess of noise. 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Clarke said, once the chaos had died down, “that was incredible.” She fell back into her seat, feeling elated and exhausted and generally stunned as she watched Skaikru celebrate their victory.

Raven looked down at Clarke, watching the conflicting emotions pass across her face. Sure, Raven could appreciate the spectacle of the game and the level of skill it must require — even if bending wasn’t something she’d ever be able to fully understand. But Clarke? Since all the shit that had happened last year, her friend had seemed lost and aimless, dutifully obeying the wishes of her parents but lacking any of the spark that made Clarke, well, _Clarke_. Now, though, Raven couldn’t help but smile at seeing the change that had come over her — the look of wide-eyed amazement and the level of fervor and passion she’d had while watching the match. Raven knew that Clarke was blatantly disobeying her parent’s—well, her _mother’s_ —wishes by being here, but in that moment, she understood why Clarke saw it as being worth the risk. And hell, after seeing Clarke come alive tonight, Raven was fully prepared to do whatever she could to stop that fire from going back out.

“Alright,” she said to Clarke, who was still stuck in a haze of amazed disbelief, “I’m about to propose something that is potentially dangerous and almost certainly ill-advised and I want you to keep an open mind, okay?”

Clarke looked up, both confused and intrigued by the teasing smile that had broken out across Raven’s face.

“Okay…” she said slowly, “I’m listening.” 


	4. Chapter 4

“Alright, while I’ll be the first one to admit that I still have a lot to learn about pro-bending, I am fairly certain that we are _not supposed to be here_.”  

“Come on, Griffin,” Raven said, taking Clarke by the hand and leading her further down the hallway, “I thought you trusted me.”

Clarke’s eyes roamed around the space, her face a mixture of caution and carefully restrained excitement. “If I didn’t, I would have taken off running as soon as I realized that trespassing was on tonight’s agenda.” 

“Now, now — I distinctly remember _someone_ saying that she would be keeping an open mind.”

“I’m still standing here, aren’t I?” Clarke said, attempting to keep her voice steady and unshaken. “Lead the way, Reyes.” Raven flashed a grin full of confidence and surety as, with slow and uncertain steps, Clarke allowed herself to be guided further down the halls of the pro-bending arena.

Their steps echoed faintly as they followed the path towards—fuck — _wherever_ the hell it was leading them. While they were still well above the water’s surface, something about the architecture felt undeniably subterranean, the unyielding industrial-grey walls interrupted only occasionally by closed doors and collections of copper piping running along the ceiling. Despite having barely descended below the level of the arena, an overwhelming and unnerving stillness presided, broken only by their soft footsteps and hushed voices — a far cry from the earthshaking cheers of the crowd that had swept over them not long before. Though doing her best to keep wayward questions in check and honor the nature of Raven’s surprise, eventually Clarke’s curiosity won out.

“I’m not saying I don’t trust you,” she said, feeling rather than seeing Raven’s skeptical glance and raised brow, “because of course I do.”

“But…“

“But you do have some idea of where we’re going, right?”

Raven paused for a moment, bringing Clarke to a halt underneath one of the lamps that hung overhead, its dim light casting ill-defined shadows against the impassive grey walls.

“Listen, Clarke,” she said, abandoning levity for a tone both serious and genuine. “You were gone for almost a year—though, hell, I’m sure you don’t need to be reminded—“ Clarke gave a small, sad smile in response, “and I’ll be honest — I missed _the hell_ out of you.” 

“I missed you too — you know that.” Clarke began, but Raven stopped her with a small shake of her head.

“No, no—I mean, thanks—but that’s not quite what I was getting at.” Raven paused, leaned against the wall, hands moving absentmindedly as she tried to gather her thoughts. “See, I’ve known you for a good long while, and like to think I know you better than most.”

“You do.” Clarke affirmed.

“And when you were gone…Clarke, I didn’t just notice your absence, I goddamn _felt_ it. Every day, could feel where you should be — sitting in the garage, the chair across from me when we go out for tea…” Her voice trailed off, the words left hanging in the stillness. Biting her lip against further interjections or interruptions, Clarke waited for Raven to go on.

“Hell, I didn’t even know if you were coming back at all.” Raven paused, allowing a small smile to spread over her face, “so seeing you walk off that boat was a damn welcome sight.

“But even though you came back to Republic City, it never really felt like you did…at least, not entirely.” Raven frowned, seeing Clarke’s questioning look. “I know it doesn’t make sense, I know how it sounds—hell—I know I’m doing a shitty job of explaining things. It’s just…you’ve changed, Clarke. I still love you—you know that—but every since you came home, you’ve been…distant, withdrawn.” She looked down at her hands, rough fingertips skating lightly over well-developed calluses.

“I’m not saying I blame you or that it’s your fault — hell, if you hadn’t been affected by all that happened, I’d be downright concerned. Doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been walking around like you’ve got weight of the whole damn world sitting on your shoulders and I _hate_ seeing you like this.” With some effort, she tucked her hands firmly in her pockets and looked up to meet Clarke’s gaze.

“Tonight was the first night in— _fuck_ —I don’t even know how long when I finally saw some—shit, shoot me for how cheesy this sounds—some _spark_ in you.” She paused again, giving Clarke her trademark look of fire and determination.

“And, dammit Griffin, I’d move heaven and earth with my bare goddamn hands if it meant seeing you look that happy again.”

Raven pushed off from the wall and gestured around the hall, slowly meandering further on. “So—what the hell—I decided to give you an adventure.” She paused, steps halting abruptly as she gave Clarke a careful look. “Listen — you say the word and we cut this whole journey short, right here, right now.” She cocked her head slightly and grinned, “or we keep going and see exactly what this place has to offer.

“So, Griffin, what do you say?”

 

—

 

“ _Holy shit_.”

Following Raven’s unexpected words, Clarke found herself capable of little more than giving a slight nod and a small smile, hoping her expression managed to convey the gratitude she couldn’t quite put into words. Raven had understood though—because of course she did—and after that, there was nowhere left to go but forwards. 

Several minutes and many closed and locked doors later, they’d rounded a bend to see light spilling into the hallway from an open room, the bright illumination easily dispelling the dim shadows that lined the walls. From just beyond the door, they could hear slight sounds of exertion and the unmistakeable noise produced by a firebender’s jets of flame. Clarke immediately thought back to the evening’s match — the lithe and sinuous grace of the Skaikru captain as he’d circled and dodged, all the while sending shots at the other time. Despite how desperately close they were to being caught trespassing, she couldn’t quite help how her feet crept quietly towards the door, curiosity winning out as she peered just past the edge of the doorframe.

It was the following sight that had prompted her quiet exclamation of, “ _holy shit._ ”

The room on the other side of the door was spacious and well lit — lights running horizontal patterns across the ceiling and illuminating the pro-bending training equipment below. In the middle of the room stood a girl, long brown hair pulled back from her face, body tensed and angled towards the series of practice dummies she’d lined up along the wall. Strung up from the ceiling, she’d hung a series of suspended earthbending discs, swinging in slow pendulum fashion in front of her targets. Clarke watched in fervent anticipation as the girl took a breath, shoulders relaxed, then launched into some of the most ferocious and beautiful and _precise_ firebending she’d ever seen. With a series of carefully controlled leaps, she sent volley after volley past the swinging discs, squarely hitting each target with a violent blast until she brought herself to a stop to consider her work. While the dummies smoldered sadly just past the obstacles, the discs themselves continued on, unhampered and undamaged.

Holy shit.

“I know you’re standing there,” the girl said suddenly, wiping sweat from the back of her neck with a towel and stretching her arms over her head, “and if you’re trying to stalk my brother, don’t bother.”

Clarke ducked back into the hallway and froze, torn between a desire to stay perfectly still and take off sprinting down the hall. 

“Clarke? Clarke, what’s happening?” Raven whispered.

“Look,” the girl called, her words tinged with irritation and the slightest hint of amusement, “I get it, okay? But you might as well save yourself the trouble. He’s never in the mood after a match and he doesn’t really go for the whole, desperate and over-eager fangirl thing.” She let out a small laugh that echoed around the corridor, “sorry to disappoint.”

Clarke knew that running was the smart choice right now — the last thing she needed was to get caught and it was fairly apparent that there was no feasible story that would justify their trespassing. Still…something in the girl’s self-assured and overly confident tone pulled Clarke from her hiding place to stand in the doorway, arms folded across her chest and her gaze level.

“To be clear,” she said, ignoring the confused and exasperated look she _knew_ Raven was giving her, “I don’t have a damn _clue_ who your brother is and I’m sure as _hell_ not stalking him. Got it?”

The girl turned to face Clarke, eyebrows slightly raised, and an undeniably entertained grin spread across her face. “No?” She took a step towards Clarke, moving with the same sort of easy grace she’d seen of all pro-benders. “Then care to explain what you are doing down here?”

Before Clarke had a chance to respond, Raven moved forward to take the place next to her, meeting the girl’s look with one of equal defiance. “Don’t really see how that’s any of your business.” She said sharply.

“Break into my training room and interrupt my practice session and you _made it_ my business.” The girl responded, icy undertones threaded through her words as slight flames began to gather on the tips of her fingers. 

Clarke could feel Raven tensing next to her and put a hand on her arm. “Listen, why don’t we just get out of here and leave you to it, alright? We were just looking around—honestly—we didn’t mean anything else by it.”

She watched the girl pause and consider her words, head tilted slightly. On the verge of agreement, she suddenly gave Clarke another glance and a look of dawning recognition came over her face.

“Oh—holy shit— _that’s_ how I know you.” She said suddenly, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re Clarke Griffin, right?”

Clarke and Raven exchanged a quick look, sharing perplexed and unsure expressions. “Yeah, I am — how’d you know?”

“Last year — all that shit in the papers, the scandal surrounding a Councilwoman’s daughter, the arrest — that was you?”

Giving a slow, resigned look at Raven, Clarke nodded. “Yeah, that was me.”

The girl paused, her carefully guarded look fading as she reconsidered the two standing in front of her.

“Tell you what,” she said suddenly, giving them both a bright and unexpected smile, “I won’t report the two of you for trespassing _if_ you step out of the door and come have a chat with me.” She held up her hands in surrender, “no tricks — I just want to talk.”

Raven and Clarke looked at each other, weighing her proposal before stepping farther into the space, joining the girl on the benches where she’d taken a seat.

“Good call.” She said, giving them both another appraising look. “Nice to meet you Clarke Griffin and…?”

“Raven,” she said curtly, “Reyes.” The girl held out a hand to both of them which Raven shook, her face clearly betraying her distrust and hesitancy. “And you are?”

“Octavia,” the girl—Octavia—paused and gave them both another grin, “Blake.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

At the introduction, Clarke gave a small start, looking at Octavia with fresh eyes. Yes—now that she knew—she could see the resemblance quite clearly — the same dark hair, the same sharp, angled jaw and cheekbones, to say nothing of her bold and decisive firebending style that brought back undeniable echoes from the night’s match.

“Blake, then.” Raven said, glancing at Octavia with fresh consideration, “so that’s why you asked if we were after your brother.”

Octavia gave an unapologetic shrug. “Trust me, you wouldn’t be the first.” Her unimpressed look easily shifted into one distinctly more mischievous, “though it usually doesn’t take much from me to send them packing…with or without my bending,” she said, sending a challenging look in Raven’s direction. Undeterred, Raven met Octavia’s gaze unflinchingly, raising an eyebrow of her own in silent contest. Apparently satisfied, Octavia turned back to Clarke and gave her an easy smile.

“Though they should try living with him,” she said, “that’d get rid of their starry eyes in a damn _second_.” She leaned back against the wall, retying her hair in a loose braid with deft and practiced fingers, “but enough about Bell — for now, at least.” She breezed past the confused glances Clarke and Raven exchanged, and continued on.

“Since the two of you were here tonight, I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that you saw Skaikru’s match.” Octavia paused, waiting for confirmation before continuing on. “Right? Good. Then I’m guessing you also saw the _useless fuck-up_ that calls himself John Murphy.”

“Son of a _bitch—“_

“ _Holy hell—“_

_“_ I'll take that as a yes.” Octavia leaned forwards towards them, a slight frown creasing her face. “Listen, you don’t need to know much about pro-bending to recognize that a team with a weak link won’t make it very far. Now Bellamy and Miller have been working their asses off and make up one _hell_ of a team — that, and the fact that they’ve been up against some easy teams so far, has allowed them to get this far in the competition — even with Murphy dragging them down.

“But they _won’t be able to keep that up_ and both Miller and my brother are very, very aware of that fact. Against the better competitors, they will need _every_ member of Skaikru working together as a unit, and even that might not be enough to pull off a win.” Octavia paused, looked at the two of them again, giving a slight sigh before continuing on.

“It’s bullshit, is what it is. Bellamy and Miller have worked _so hard_ to get to this point and every time they step back in the ring with Murphy, they risk losing everything. Which is why,” unconsciously, her voice lowered slightly, “—and I’m trusting that you two are smart enough to keep this between us—Bellamy and Miller have started looking for a new waterbender.”

Clarke and Raven stared at Octavia in silence, the confusion and surprise written clearly over their faces. Registering their expressions, Octavia gave a sheepish smile, betraying the fact that she wasn’t finished speaking quite yet.

“Bluntly, they haven’t been having much success. Pro-bending competitors tend to be arrogant hotheads—my brother being no exception—and no one they’ve come across has had both the talent _and_ temperament they need. It’s not just about being a good bender, it’s about being able to act as part of a team — knowing when to step up as a leader and when to fall back.” Octavia snorted slightly, “you’d be surprised how few candidates understand that. They need someone strong, yes, but more than that, they need someone _balanced._

_“_ And—think about what I’m saying before you say no—I think that’s you, Clarke.”

A pause, then silence as her words sunk in. 

“Are you out of your _goddamn mind_?”

“Clarke—“

“ _Me?_ I can’t fight worth a _damn_ and you think _I’m_ the missing link of the Skaikru pro-bending team?”

“Wait a minute—“

“I’m sorry, Octavia—really, I am—but I can promise you that I am _not_ who you’re looking for.”

Still shaking her head in steadfast disbelief, Clarke stood. Beside her, Raven followed her lead, casting an unsure look at Octavia, still seated on the bench, as she followed Clarke’s hurried lead towards the door.

“Wait.” 

She’d spoken quietly, yet the word still carried clearly and decisively across the room — halting Clarke in her steps at the sound of the commanding tone. Turning, Clarke watched as Octavia rose from her seat, the lines of her limbs clean and deliberate, her slight stature doing nothing to diminish her air of authority.

“I did ask you to stop and _think_ before you said no,” she sighed slightly, “but clearly that isn’t going to happen.

“Earlier, I told you that if you came in and had a chat with me, I wouldn’t report you. And I meant it.” Octavia gave Clarke a piercing, unflinching look, “However I’m also not done talking just yet.” She tilted her head slightly towards the seat on the bench next to her. “So you can stay, and we can finish our conversation,” she paused, “or you can go—right now, without looking back—and I’ll report the two of you for trespassing and add another stain to that already tarnished record, Clarke.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke could see Raven tensing, moving forward to meet the younger Blake as she shot back, “are you threatening us?”

Octavia met her gaze squarely, the corners of her lips curving up, “you’re goddamn right I am. Understand this — I love my brother, and would do damn near _anything_ for him. He has worked _so hard_ for this and I am not going to let this opportunity slip away from him just because he made the mistake of teaming up with a sorry jackass.”

Raven opened her mouth to respond again, but Clarke put a hand on her arm, waiting instead for Octavia to continue. While her words remained clear and precise, something in her expression and tone softened slightly.

“All I’m asking for is a little of your time — that’s it. Just a few minutes to explain why you are the _perfect_ choice for this. That, and for you to give it a little thought.” Octavia’s smile widened, “what do you say?”

Clarke gave herself a moment to consider the options, but the choice was evident.

“Okay,” she acceded, “finish your pitch. Why me?”

Octavia’s posture relaxed as she returned to her seat, Clarke and Raven following not far behind.

“I told you that there were two things Bellamy and Miller needed — talent and temperament.”

“What makes you think I’ve got either?” Clarke challenged. “You don’t even know me.”

Undeterred, Octavia continued, “I told you that they needed someone balanced, someone who could function as part of the team — someone who would complement them. You’re not wrong, Clarke — I don’t know you, not really. In fact, all I’ve really got are the articles from last year and what I’ve seen of you tonight. And you know what? That’s _still_ enough to tell me what I need to know.”

She glanced over at Raven. “From the moment the two of you walked in here, you’ve been playing mediator between me and your friend, Reyes — keeping an eye on our interactions while also thinking over your own shit. And—admittedly— it’s not much to go off of, but it does tell me pretty damn clearly that you know how to handle disputes and keep an eye on the ultimate goal. Hell — you two are acting like a team right fucking _now_ — working in tandem while striking that balance between stepping up and falling back. Sure, you clearly have history, and that helps — doesn’t change the fact that you know how to act in cooperation with others.

“As for those articles from last year? May not have cast you in the most glowing light—“

Clarke snorted at the severe understatement.

“But even with all that shit, it’s damn apparent that you are _smart_ — you’re thoughtful, and you’re bold, and not afraid of taking a few risks. And, with the right cause, you’re willing to put yourself on the line.” She sent a questioning look in Raven’s direction. “How am I doing?”

“Left out ‘stubborn asshole’,” Raven said, “but other than that? Yeah — that’s Clarke.” 

“Come on,” Octavia said, a slight note of pleading entering her voice, “you can sigh and shake your head and roll your eyes but you _know I’m right_.”

Choosing to skate past Octavia’s last words, Clarke tried a different approach. “You said temperament _and_ talent. What makes you think I’ve got the talent? You’ve never even seen me bend before and I can _promise_ you — I can’t fight worth a damn.”

“She’s got a point there.” Raven added.

Octavia shrugged, clearly unconcerned. “Fighting’s something you can learn — any bender who’s halfway powerful and knows how to handle their element can be taught the pro-bending steps.” Seeing Clarke ready to interject once more, Octavia forestalled her next question. “And true, I’ve never seen you bend before — but I’m still damn certain you’ve got what it takes.”

“How?”

“Because you’re Abby Griffin’s daughter.”

“I’m sorry — _what_?” Clarke asked, failing to keep the absolute incredulity out of her voice. “You’re telling me that the reason you are so ‘damn certain’ I’ve got the talent to pro-bend is because of my _mother_?”

“Yes.”

“Same woman who has condemned and attacked pro-bending since its inception? Same person who called it a ‘worthless and exploitative mockery of the noble tradition of bending’ — _that_ Abby Griffin?”

At that, Octavia laughed easily, her amusement tapering off into a smile as she nodded. “Yes — _that_ Abby Griffin.” She leaned forwards, her tone fading into one distinctly more serious, “listen, Clarke. You’re mother is one of the most skilled healers that Republic City has ever seen — though,” she shrugged, “I’m sure you’re already well aware of that.

“You have even _half_ of her ability, you’ll be one hell of a competitor — and I’m willing to bet that you do.” Octavia looked over at Raven, who nodded in silent confirmation of Octavia’s words.

On the bench, Clarke sat silently, Octavia’s words turning over silently in her mind. This was ridiculous — it was _ridiculous_. Hell, the idea of her as a pro-bender wasn’t just absurd it was downright fucking _laughable_. She knew that. Even so…she couldn’t convince herself to forget Octavia’s arguments quite yet — couldn’t quite shake the mental image of standing in the middle of that arena, part of a team in the unmistakeable black Skaikru uniform.

But no, no — she couldn’t, right?

“Think it over, Clarke.” Octavia said lightly, interrupting her confused and uncertain thoughts. “Tomorrow I’ll be at Riverbank Tea, two o’clock. Why don’t you swing by and let me know what you’ve decided — either way.” She stood and moved slowly around the room collecting her things. “I’ll see you then.” She called over her shoulder and nodded a quick farewell to both of them, heading out the door with a sense of abrupt finality, leaving Clarke and Raven sitting alone in the training room.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Alright, let’s hear it” Clarke said finally, breaking the silence that had persisted between them since they’d left the pro-bending arena. At that, Raven turned her head slightly, wearing an expression of perplexed curiosity.

“What do you mean?” Raven asked. “I haven’t said anything. You starting to hear voices, Griffin?” she joked, her voice light.

“No,” Clarke said, allowing herself a small smile, “but we both know you’ve been dying to talk about what happened since Octavia left.” She pulled her jacket a little tighter against the evening chill and bumped Raven’s shoulder with her own, “out with it, Reyes.”

“Well—now that you mention it—I guess I am _slightly_ curious as to what you’re going to say to Octavia tomorrow.” 

“Slightly?”

“Very, very slightly — practically indifferent, actually.”

Clarke laughed, nodding skeptically, “I’m sure.” 

“But leaving my thoughts aside—for the time being, that is—how about you? What’s going on in that head of yours, Clarke?” Raven asked, her words losing a little of their levity.

“Well…Octavia does have some pretty ridiculous biceps, but I’m pretty sure you could take her in a fight.”

“Alright, Griffin, we both know that’s not what I — wait, what do you mean _pretty sure_?” Raven said, suddenly sounding affronted, “excuse you, Clarke, but I could take her with both hands tied behind my back.” She paused, remembering Octavia’s violent and lethal style of firebending before correcting herself, “maybe just one hand.”

“Of course, of course,” Clarke said, nodding with assurance, “my mistake.”

“Really though — what are you thinking?”

Clarke sighed slowly, lifting her head to look out at the Republic City skyline, “honestly, still working it out myself.” She paused, biting the inside of her cheek as Raven waited in silence for her next words. “Off the top of my head, I’m thinking that I should probably be considerably more furious with you for the whole, you know, trespassing thing.”

“Are you?” Raven interjected, “angry about that, I mean?”

Beside her, Clarke smiled and shook her head. “Of course not — even if I should be.” She paused again. “I am also thinking that, in spite of the mild law-breaking—or, hell, maybe because of it—I did have a great time tonight.” She looked over at Raven and couldn’t stop the grin that broke out over her features. “Dammit, Reyes — how do you do it? I swear you always know exactly what I need — hell, even before I’ve worked it out for myself.”

“It’s a gift, actually.” Raven said, returning Clarke’s smile. “I wish it’s something I could teach, but unfortunately we’re talking about natural-born talent here.”

“Guess I’ll just have aspire to your level of skill, then.”

“Damn straight.”

“Well since you do seem to have me figured out so well,” Clarke began, her words slightly hesitant, “what do you think I should tell Octavia tomorrow?”

“Clarke—“

“Look, I know you can’t give me my answer—I get that, really I do—but I’ve been turning over this question in my head since we left and all I have to show for it is a mess of conflicting ideas and opinions and not a damn _clue_ what I’m going to say to her.” She gave Raven a look that was almost desperate. “Please Raven? I need to get out of my head and I do think it’ll help to hear another perspective.”

At that, Raven turned, watching Clarke as they continued to meander down the darkening city streets. “It’s not that I’m saying no, it’s just — I’m pretty sure you already know what I’m going to say.”

Clarke nodded slowly, mouth set in a slight frown. “Even still, I want to hear it.” In her periphery, she could see Raven’s slight shrug and look of concession.

“Well—and I highly doubt this is going to come as a surprise to you—I think you should say yes.” Seeing the look on Clarke’s face, Raven spoke again quickly, forestalling her next words. “And before you start throwing out all those reasons why you can’t or why it’s a bad idea or that I’m out of my goddamn mind, at least be honest enough with me to admit that _you want this too._ ” She looked over at Clarke, clearly struggling with her next words and her own confusion.

“Fine — I do!” Clarke said finally, sounding desperate and angry and frustrated. “Of course I do! As soon as Octavia brought it up—hell, probably even before then—I knew this was something I wanted.” She shook her head, eyes shut. “But I can’t.”

“Why!” Raven asked, her tone exasperated as she watched Clarke’s conflicting emotions flash across her face, feeling not a little frustration of her own.

“Come on — you know why.”

“What, are you talking about your mother?” 

Clarke snorted, “of course I’m talking about my mother. Hell, because of her, you were worried about me even _going_ to a pro-bending match. Now you think I should get in the ring myself? Have you lost it?”

Raven persisted. “She doesn’t have to find out—“

“You think she won’t? You think we can keep something like this a secret? And what happens when she does — because come on, Raven, of _course_ she will. What do you think happens after my mother finds out I’ve publicly disobeyed her _again?_ ”

“Clarke—“

“I go back to the South Pole and I _never fucking come home_. You think that’s worth a few moments of me having fun in that arena?” Clarke asked, her voice sharp and demanding. “Well?”

“ _Fuck_ Clarke — _you’re_ the one who wanted to hear what I had to say.” Raven fired back, her words hard and sharp as steel. “You don’t get to throw a fucking fit just because you don’t like what you hear.” 

Clarke lowered her head slightly, but Raven continued on before she had a chance to respond.

“Yes, keeping this a secret would be difficult. And Abby finding out would be shitty—you’re not wrong—but we both know that your permanent exile is the _worst_ case scenario.

“All those clever arguments and reasons why this is something you can’t do are _bullshit_ — I am not going to let you hide behind excuses because you won’t admit what’s really going on. You’re _afraid_ , Clarke. You don’t have to lie to me and you sure as shit need to stop lying to yourself. You’re afraid that you’ll give this a shot and won’t cut it, sure, but it’s not just that — you look at what happened last year and you see it as a failure. You’ve been frustrated and disappointed in yourself for over a goddamn _year_ and I _know_ that you’re terrified of screwing up like that again.

“But this is not the same thing—it just _isn’t_ —and I have _never_ met anyone so capable and so strong. I have no doubt that you can do this, but it’s more than that — I don’t just think this would be good for you, Clarke, I think you goddamn _need it_.”

Raven paused, waiting for Clarke’s reaction. She remained silent but her features had turned thoughtful and considering.

“Look, whatever you decide, I’ll stand behind you—of _course_ I will—but whatever is holding you back, shit Clarke, those are just details. If you want this, we can figure out a solution. I’ll understand if you say no because this is something you don’t want, but I can’t just sit back and let you say no for the wrong reasons. 

“So?”

 

— 

 

The next day, Clarke found herself on the street outside Riverbank Tea feeling nervous and apprehensive. Last night’s talk with Raven had given her more than enough to think over, and while she thought she was sure of her decision, she couldn’t suppress the current fears and anxieties that were bringing a slight tremor to her fingertips. Through the window, she could make out Octavia sitting comfortably at one of the tables, a cup of tea already on the table in front of her as she lounged in the chair.

No time like the present, right? Flexing her hands to stop their shaking, Clarke took a slow and measured breath before making her way inside.

Octavia spotted her a moment after she’d stepped through the door, sending an easy smile Clarke’s way before waving her over to the table. Winding her way through the cozy arrangement of tables and chairs, she took another meditative breath to settle her nerves before reaching Octavia’s corner, taking up the chair across from the younger Blake sibling.

“Hey Clarke,” Octavia said, light and genial, “good to see you again.”

“You too,” she responded, already feeling more at ease thanks to Octavia’s easygoing nature.

“Sorry for already having ordered — it’s been a long morning and I needed it.” Octavia said, “but please do get something for yourself.” She paused, sending a sly look Clarke’s way, eyebrows slightly raised, “unless this isn’t going to be a long conversation?”

At that, Clarke gave an enigmatic shrug before looking down to peruse the menu. “Probably just a cup of peppermint for me.” She glanced up to see Octavia grinning broadly before looking down, unable to suppress a smile of her own.

“One peppermint tea then,” Octavia affirmed, calling over one of the waiters and relaying Clarke’s request, the easy and widespread grin never leaving her face.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Clarke asked, arms resting on the table as she allowed herself to relax.

“Shoot.” Octavia responded, idly stirring the tea in front of her.

“Why aren’t you part of a pro-bending team? I get why you’re not in Skaikru—I mean, not as if they could have two firebenders—but why not another? Granted my pro-bending exposure is limited, but you sure seem capable of holding your own against most of the other competitors. Is it because you wouldn’t want to compete against your brother?”

Octavia gave a small shrug, eyes rolling slightly. “Hardly. And not just because Bell knows I could kick his ass out of that ring in a damn _second_.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair, “trust me Clarke, that question has been the subject of too fucking many arguments between me and Bell.” She ran a hand through her dark hair, freed from its tight braids and hanging loosely around her face. “Basically it’s because my brother is an overprotective ass — something I have told him many times over the years. He knows I can fight—knows I can handle myself—and _still_ doesn’t trust me to protect myself in the ring.” Her face had fallen into a slight frown but she pushed it away for a more neutral expression. “I know he worries, and I don’t really blame him—practically raised me, after all—so I accepted a while ago that the idea of me pro-bending wasn’t an argument I was ever going to win.” She raised her cup to her lips, adding almost as an afterthought, “doesn’t stop me from practicing though.”

Clarke nodded, Octavia’s words adding to the rough sketch she had so far of the Blake siblings — more specifically, of Bellamy.

“Anyway, there’ll be plenty of time to talk about Bell later.” Octavia said, “well — depending on what you came here to say, that is.”

“Speaking of,” Clarke began, fingers tracing small circles on the tabletop, “I’ve thought it over, and—ignoring the fact that I’m almost certainly out of my mind—I’m in.”

At that, the waiter returned with Clarke’s tea, setting it down in front of her as Octavia did a poor job of hiding her self-satisfied and approving smile. 

“I do have a few things I need to talk to you about, though,” Clarke said quickly, though admittedly finding it difficult to resist Octavia’s infectious enthusiasm. Feeling as though the grin on her face was going to become a permanent addition, she settled down into the comfortable space to discuss the details with Octavia, feeling more at ease, more _sure_ of herself than she had in a while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man, oh man -- I am /so very sorry/ for how long it's been since my last update. I'm also feeling slightly guilty that, after over a month with nothing new posted, my next chapter is essentially a filler. sorry guys -- I do want to get to the action but I also don't want the plot to feel rushed. and, if I'm being honest, I'm still sort of getting a feel for writing these characters. reading ooc fics is one of my pet peeves, so I'd like to be sure that I'm not guilty of writing one.
> 
> (though speaking of guilt, I am /also/ sorry that it's been six chapters with no bellamy/clarke interaction...whoops...it's coming though, I promise -- this is a bellarke fic so no worries there)
> 
> anyway, hopefully this heralds the start of more regular updates -- I know this chapter wasn't exactly full of surprises (I mean spoilers guys, she does join skaikru) but just trying to get back into the swing of things
> 
> as always, the comments and kudos make my day -- so thank you, thank you, thank you


	7. Chapter 7

 As it turns out, agreeing to go along with Octavia’s outlandish idea was only the first step. While it wasn’t a secret that Clarke’s innate bending ability was damn powerful, it didn’t change the fact that the only fighting styles she’d ever learned were purely defensive in nature — her mother always having preferred that Clarke study healing as opposed to sparring. _If_ this was something she was going to go through with, and _if_ they wanted to have even a _chance_ of pulling this off, Clarke needed to learn to fight like a pro-bender and needed someone willing to teach her — a position Octavia volunteered for without a second thought.

“Are you sure?” Clarke had pressed.

“Hell, Clarke, of course I’m sure. If you’re going to make it onto Skaikru, you _have_ to be able to meet Bellamy and Miller step-for-step.” She shrugged self-assuredly, “who better to teach you to hold your own than me?”

And—as Clarke was soon to discover—once Octavia had made up her mind, there was nothing else to say on the matter.

In addition to a teacher, Clarke also needed somewhere out of the way to practice. The gyms in the pro-bending arena were out — while going to a match every so often wouldn’t be enough to arouse her mother’s suspicion, spending several hours a day at the arena felt like _asking_ to be discovered before she’d even had a chance to begin.

“Not a problem,” Octavia had responded, “I’ve got a friend who runs a gym not far from here. I’m sure he’s got a spare training room where you can practice. Better yet, Bell doesn’t know anything about it — it might be best to keep you out of his way until you’re ready.”

“If you’re—“

“ _Yes_ — now, moving on, is there anything else?”

And there had been just one more thing.

“My mother cannot— _cannot_ —find out about this.” Clarke’s words steady and adamant. Across the table, Octavia nodded slowly, a slight frown taking the place of her perpetual grin.

“Fair enough — while I don’t know your mother that well, I am assuming she’s not the type of person to follow pro-bending too closely, right?” She’d paused, waiting for Clarke’s affirmation before continuing. “Okay…then off the top of my head I’m thinking that you publicly join the team under a different name and that should be enough to keep your mother in the dark, but give me some time to work out the details, alright?”

While it was by no means a perfect solution, Clarke had agreed. It wasn’t as if she was going to master the pro-bending style overnight, meaning she and Octavia and Raven plenty of time to figure out exactly how they were going to hide Clarke’s up-and-coming pro-bending career from Councilwoman Abby Griffin.

 

—

 

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Raven asked for the third time, her voice slightly muffled from her position underneath the Griffinmobile.

“I appreciate you worrying about me,” Clarke said, pushing off from where she’d been leaning against the garage wall and uncrossing her arms, “but I’ll be fine. You’ve got work to do and this feels like a step I need to take on my own.” Despite the fact that Raven’s face was hidden behind feet of machinery, Clarke just _knew_ she was getting ready to protest.

“Honestly Raven, I’ll be good. It’s only for a few hours and Octavia’s friend’s gym isn’t far from here. I promise to give you a full report as soon as I’m back, alright?”

Taking Raven’s grumbling as assent, Clarke sent a quick farewell over her shoulder as she headed for the door. 

The gym Octavia had sent her to didn’t take long to reach, but was cleverly tucked away from the main street. Had Clarke not known what she’d been looking for, the building was one she would’ve walked right past. As she made her way to the front, she silently thanked Octavia’s sense of discretion in choosing a training location, stepping into the building before she had a chance to overthink her actions.

In that moment, Clarke had never felt more out of place _in her life_.

On the other side of the door, the room revealed itself to be a spacious and well-lit space with training equipment placed at intervals along the wall. While the layout and decor felt innocuous enough, the other patrons of the gym seemed distinctly less inviting. As she crossed the threshold, it was as if all eyes were immediately drawn towards her — along with the unimpressed and judging expressions of their owners, each of them fashioned with harsh and well-defined musculature, skin patterned with dark tattoos that rippled and flexed on their deeply-tanned skin.

_Well, fuck_.

“Excuse me,” one of the men said, stepping forward. Torn between an impulse to stay and a much stronger desire to sprint from the room and not stop running until she reached Griffin estate, Clarke swallowed and stood her ground as the man drew near. He towered over her, his shaved head and the thick tattoos encircling his arms doing nothing to ease Clarke’s discomfort.

“I’m Lincoln,” he said, his voice surprisingly friendly, “this is my gym.” He held out his hand to Clarke who shook it slowly, less than proud at how sweaty her palms were. “I’m guessing you’re here to meet Octavia?”

Feeling immediately relieved, Clarke nodded, not trusting her voice to not crack or embarrass her further. With a reassuring smile, Lincoln turned, gesturing for her to follow him. 

“She’s waiting in one of the back rooms for you — it’s a little cozier than the main space, but it’ll be just the two of you working back there.” He explained over his shoulder as Clarke followed him hesitantly through the room, doing her best to ignore the skeptical and dismissive glances being sent her way. At the back of the room, Lincoln pulled open a door into a smaller, but no less well-equipped training space. Reclining easily on one of the benches along the wall was Octavia, who jumped to her feet as soon as she saw Clarke. 

“Clarke!” She said cheerfully, walking over to where Clarke and Lincoln stood and giving her a hug. “I’m glad you made it — I know this place is a little hard to find, but I think it’s got exactly what we need to get you into shape.” She looked behind Clarke at Lincoln, her expression shifting into something softer—loving, almost?—as she said, “thanks again for letting us use the space, Lincoln.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said easily, returning Octavia’s look with one of his own. “If there’s anything else you two need, feel free to let me know.” With that, he gave another small nod and left, closing the door behind him.

Clarke wondered if there maybe weren’t a few reasons why Octavia had kept the gym a secret from her brother.

A smile still lingering on her face, Octavia turned to face Clarke. “Ready to get started?” 

“Yes,” Clarke said slowly, “at least, I think so.”

As if reading her thoughts, Octavia gave her an understanding look. “I know that it can be intimidating at first — hell, the first few times I came here, I spent half the time convinced that I should leave and never come back.

“But Lincoln’s a great guy, and so are a lot of the people who come here. They can be a little unfriendly at first towards,” she paused, considering her next words, “outsiders — but if you earn their respect, it’s not something easily lost.”

“How do I manage that?”

“You work your ass off, and you keep coming back.” With that, she moved farther into the room, crossing a dark line that had been drawn through the middle of the space. “Alright enough stalling — do you want to learn to fight or what?”

Taking a deep breath, Clarke nodded, pulling her long blonde curls back away from her face. A few yards away on the other side of the line, Octavia stood waiting, muscles relaxed but ready.

“First things first,” she said, “I need to get a feel for how you fight now.”

Clarke snorted, “trust me, that won’t take you long. In fact, even calling it ‘fighting’ might be a bit of a stretch.”

“Given your mother’s reputation, I’m surprised she didn’t send you off to one of the Poles until you became a master.”

“We’re not fighting a war anymore,” Clarke said, shrugging, “in her eyes, healing is a far more valuable and respectable skill.” She paused, considering, “and to be honest, I think she was always worried that teaching me to fight would lead to something like this. Guess she wasn’t wrong.”

“Well, while it’s good to know you’ll be able to heal your bruises and sore muscles later,” Octavia said, “we’ve got to start somewhere. I want you to try and land a hit on me." She gestured to the troughs of water along the walls, “try and follow the pro-bending rules for the most part—no ice, no sustained hits—and keep to your side of the line, but other than that? Anything goes.” 

Clarke nodded slowly, moving into a bending stance herself a few feet from the center line.

“For now, I won’t fight back,” Octavia said, “so don’t worry about defending yourself — just show me what you’ve got.”

“Somehow, this feels more than a little patronizing.”

“Well then knock me on my ass so we can move along to something more difficult.” Octavia responded easily, shifting her weight back and forth. “Come on Clarke — neither of us have all day.”

Taking a slow breath to steady herself, Clarke flexed her fingers, feeling the pull of the water in the troughs. Remembering the steps she’d been taught, she pulled forward the silvery streams from her side of the room, focusing on power and precision as she sent two rapid-fire shots towards Octavia, who ducked around the attacks easily.

“That it?” She taunted from across the room. Despite the nerves and anxieties she was currently feeling, Clarke’s competitive nature refused to let her lose that easily. She repeated the attack, but this time, as Octavia dodged the first shot, Clarke sent a second jet of water towards the spot Octavia had just moved to. Her momentary feelings of vindication were subsequently shattered as Octavia anticipated her follow-up attack, ducking low to evade it and returning to her starting position seemingly effortlessly.

“Better,” Octavia said, “but you’re still holding back. Dammit, Clarke, _hit me_!”

They continued to dance around the space for the better part of an hour, Clarke’s blows repeatedly hitting nothing but air as Octavia dodged and ducked, never once using her bending to defend herself. Eventually, Octavia called for a break, breathing heavily as she made her way over to where Clarke stood, her frustration and disappointment written clearly across her face.

“Good — now I know where to start.” Octavia said, picking up a bottle of water for herself and passing another to Clarke.

“Good? _Good_?” Clarke sputtered, knuckles whitening as she clenched her hands into fists. “I didn’t hit you _once_ — and I was _trying_ , dammit!” Irritated and disgusted, she began bending the puddles of water around the room back into the troughs, trying and failing to hide her anger.

“Clarke, take it easy.” Octavia said, her voice light and unconcerned. “You weren’t _supposed_ to hit me, dumbass.”

“What?”

“I’ve been practicing this shit for _years_ and you’ve had very little experience or training when it comes to fighting this way. The hell kind of teacher would I be if you’d beaten me on your first day?”

“But you _told me to hit you!_ ”

“Well I wanted you to _try_ ,” Octavia said, laughing at the look of indignation on Clarke’s face, “but I was fairly sure you weren’t actually going to be able to.” Clarifying, she continued, “that’s okay! I promise you, I was no better when I started off. But now that I know your style and your strategies, I can help you improve — and _you will_ ,” she added, her words fervent as she saw the look of doubt and skepticism Clarke wore.

“You might not quite know what you’re doing yet, but the talent is there. Trust me, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll even be able to knock Bellamy on his ass — and have no doubt that I will be there cheering you on when you do.”

Octavia turned, heading to the side of the room where a cluster of practice dummies were waiting. 

“First lesson…”

 

__ 

 

 

The next week and a half passed by slowly and, more than anything else, _painfully_. Clarke was feeling the ache of muscles she barely even knew she _had_ , and had never made such great use of her healing in such a short amount of time. The pace Octavia set every day at the gym was relentless and brutal but effective, repeatedly pushing Clarke past the edge of her abilities and constantly forcing her to reconsider what she believed to be her limits. 

She had never been happier.

A few days after her first day of training, Clarke walked into the gym’s back room to see Lincoln waiting with Octavia, the two in the middle of an easy conversation as Clarke stepped inside.

“Hey Clarke,” Octavia said, greeting her with her usual degree of enthusiasm. “Now that you’re starting to get the basics down, I thought we’d mix things up a little bit,” she said, eyes glancing over to where Lincoln stood waiting. “While I can guide you through the steps of the pro-bending style, what I can’t do is give you specific tips to up your game as a _waterbender_. Which is why I’ve brought in somebody who can.”

“Lincoln? You’re a waterbender?” Clarke asked, unable to hide her surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I just—“

He laughed, holding up a hand to put a halt to Clarke’s furious backpedaling, “it’s okay, I get that a lot. You figured earthbender, right? So do most.” He gave a small shrug, “the tattoos do tend to throw people off, but what I can say? Water’s always been my element.”

“And he’s one of the best I know.” Octavia said proudly. “He’ll be running things today — showing you all the tricks of fighting that are unique to waterbenders.”

“Are you gonna finally teach me what I need to know to take her down?” Clarke asked jokingly, inclining her head in Octavia’s direction.

“Well seeing as how I have pretty strong instincts towards self-preservation…” Lincoln trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck as he gave Octavia a sheepish look. “But I will definitely show you how to take down most any fire or earthbender you come across — though I make no promises when it comes to the Blake siblings.”

In response to that, as well as the somewhat amused, somewhat offended look Octavia was giving Lincoln, Clarke laughed. “Fair enough.” She said, dropping her things off on the bench before joining Octavia and Lincoln in the center of the room. “Where do we start?”

Following her lesson with Lincoln—and _fuck_ was he a damned skilled bender—Octavia started concluding every one of their sessions with a practice sparring match, challenging Clarke to juggle both offense and defense for the first time. She sent Clarke falling to the hard and unyielding floor more times than she wanted to remember, but she couldn’t deny that she was getting a feel for the fighting style faster than she would’ve thought possible.

Towards the end of their first week together, right before starting their final sparring match of the day, Octavia paused, looking contemplative.

“Octavia?” Clarke asked, looking over from where she stood on her side of the line, “everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Octavia said, “just something I realized. Let’s postpone sparring for a bit — there’s something I want to talk to you about.” 

Clarke walked over, her face set in a small frown, “should I be worried?” She asked tentatively, feeling not a little apprehensive.

“No…I mean, I don’t think so.” Pausing, Octavia shook her head, “fuck, I’m just making this more complicated. Alright, scratch that and let me start over.

“Listen, you’re getting good, Clarke — you’re getting _damn_ good. In fact, I think it’s almost time for you to meet Miller and, well, Bellamy.”

Caught off-guard by the sudden praise, Clarke felt the impulse to thank Octavia, but held back, realizing her friend wasn’t done speaking quite yet.

“And when you do—meet them, I mean—I don’t want you to be caught off guard or flying blind. Because that’d be shitty, right? I want you to audition for the team having all the necessary information. So there’s something you need to understand about my brother.

“See, anybody who Miller and Bellamy might choose to replace Murphy has to impress them. It’s just a fact. They’ve already been saddled with one jackass they were initially on the fence about, and I can guarantee you they won’t make the same mistake a second time. If they’re going to replace one of the members of their team, then whoever they bring in has to be worth it, right? Has to be somebody who doesn’t just impress them, but who they _respect_. Miller I’m not worried about, he’s a great and very grounded guy who’s good at reading people. He’ll see in you what I do — that you’re strong and loyal and capable. 

“But Bellamy? Bellamy’s not going to like you. In fact, he’s probably going to hate you.”

“What? Why?” Clarke asked, “he doesn’t even know me.”

Octavia gave a rueful laugh and shook her head, “no, he doesn’t. But he thinks he does. In addition to being an overprotective ass and a stubborn hothead, you can add ‘judgmental dick’ to the list of my brother’s attributes.

“I told you that Bellamy practically raised me, and that’s true, but it’s more than that. We had next to nothing growing up, and after we lost both our parents, things became even more difficult.” As Clarke began to offer condolences, Octavia waved her off, “it’s okay, it’s fine — not the point right now. Because of where we came from and how hard we—but especially Bell—had to fight to get _anything_ in this city, he’s always been particularly resentful of those who are…well…privileged. He sees people born into better circumstances as lazy and selfish and stuck-up and entitled. People who are, for lack of a better way of putting it, part of Republic City’s elite. People like—“

“People like me.” Clarke finished for her, quietly.

“I’m not saying this is the way I feel, and I’m not saying that any of Bell’s stereotyped judgements are true — I’m just saying that this is the way _he_ feels, and that these are the kinds of assumptions he’s going to make about you.” Octavia said, “but I know he’s wrong and so do you. The challenge is going to be making _him_ see it.

“When you do meet my brother, you’re not just going to have to impress him, you’re going to have to work _damn hard_ to earn his respect and show him that you deserve to be given a shot.” 

“Can I?” Clarke asked, feeling more than a little thrown by the new information. “I mean, do you think I can do it?”

Octavia gave a quiet laugh, putting a hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “Do you think I would have spent all this time training you if I didn’t?

“Trust me, Clarke, if anyone can pull Bellamy’s head out of his ass and earn his respect, it’s you.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Hey, Bell?”

“Yeah, O?” Bellamy responded, face hidden behind a book as he reclined easily on his bed. Up in their apartment located in the attic of the pro-bending arena, the two Blake siblings lounged comfortably on their respective sides of the room. Polished stripes of wood flooring glinted dully under the myriad of lights that lit up the well-sized space, occasional dents and scratches marking the surface from where the Blakes had shifted and rearranged furniture over the past year. The furnishings were far from new, well-worn and showing signs of repairs, yet gave off the impression of familiar and homey, rather than shabby. While the space certainly wasn’t as comfortable as a house would have been, it was a place they could call their own and both Blakes felt at ease in the space.

At his sister’s prolonged silence, Bellamy lowered the text in his hand until he could see clearly where Octavia sat on the other side of the attic. “Something wrong?” He asked, slight notes of worry creeping into his tone at the slightly unsure look on her face.

“No…” she said, not quite convincingly, “no, not really. Just…wondering about something.” The words sounded weak even to her and she wished she’d found a more natural way of trying to segue into the conversation she was hoping to have.

“Feel like sharing?” Bellamy asked, his words somehow a blend of brotherly concern and lighthearted teasing that only he had ever been able to master. 

After a few moments of searching for the best approach, she responded, “I was just wondering how it was going with you and Miller — searching for a new waterbender, I mean.”

At that he gave a short humorless laugh and dropped his book on the bed, running a hand through his shaggy brown curls. “Holy fucking _hell_ , O.”

“That bad?”

He shook his head slowly. “Let’s just say that in the past few weeks, I’ve met with people who actually make me _grateful_ to have John Murphy.”

“How is that even possible?” Octavia asked, laughing slightly, her voice heavy with incredulity.

“I wouldn’t have believed it either,” Bellamy snorted. “I’m legitimately beginning to believe we’re going to be stuck with that dick for the rest of the season. Which,” he said, his face shifting to a look of grim resignation, “won’t be much longer considering how he performed in our last few matches.” Even from across the room, she could see the slight clench in his jaw, evidence of his frustration.

“Oh come on, Bell — there really hasn’t been anyone who might be a contender?” Octavia pressed.

“I wish I had better news for you—trust me, I do—but everyone we’ve seen has either been hopelessly incompetent or even more of a self-centered and arrogant dick than Murphy is.” He said with a sigh.

“And with you around, there’s clearly not enough room for _another_ massive ego on the team.” She said jokingly. Bellamy gave her an unamused look that soon gave way to a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Exactly.” He said, “in all seriousness, though—“

“Excuse you, I was being perfectly serious.”

“Fuck off, O. In all seriousness, I know that I’m good and I see no problem acting like I’m aware of that fact, but some of these guys we’ve seen…shit, O — barely thirty seconds with any of them and you would have been sending them out the goddamn _window_.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said with a smile. “Maybe I should tag along when you meet your next candidate.”

“Not like it could hurt,” he said, reclining back on the bed and reaching for his book again. “And I would pay good money to see how you handle some of these assholes.”

“Honestly though, I am sorry to hear things aren’t going…quite as well as you and Miller would like.”

“Very diplomatic.”

“Thank you, I try. _But_ ,” she said quickly as she watched Bellamy’s eyes shift from her back to his book, “I actually think I might be able to help.”

At that, Bellamy lowered the text again, eyebrows raised in a mix of interest and skepticism. “Listen O, I appreciate the gesture—honest, I do—but we really are looking for another _water_ bender—“

“No, you jackass, not _me,_ ” she said with a snort. “I’ve got a friend who’s a waterbender who I think might actually be a pretty solid candidate.”

“You do?” He said with a slight frown, “who is he?”

“She,” Octavia corrected, “and no one you know,” she said, hoping to keep Clarke’s identity a secret for as long as possible. In response to the slight furrowing of his brows, she waved one hand easily, “relax, Bell. She's not a stalker or a serial killer or one of your deranged groupies — we met at one of the Skaikru matches.”

Leaving aside his innate brotherly concern for the moment, Bellamy’s face became pensive, “any pro-bending experience?”

“Nothing official…” Octavia said, “but she’s picked up the style _damn_ fast. I’ve been sparring with her and I’m confident she can hold her own in the ring.” Seeing that Bellamy still didn’t seem entirely convinced, she added, “she also _isn’t_ a narcissistic dick or an arrogant jackass, so it sounds like she might make a welcome change from the other candidates you’ve met with.”

“Look, I’m just not sure—“

“Come _on_ , Bell, what do you have to lose? You yourself said that you and Miller haven’t found _anybody_ who seems promising yet. All I’m asking is an hour for you to meet her and see what you think. That’s it. I mean _dammit_ , Bellamy, do you really think I’d be asking if I wasn’t serious? Do you really think I’d recommend her if I didn’t absolutely believe she has what it takes?” Octavia finished, her words fervent and frustrated. She gave Bellamy her best pleading look as she watched him turn over the decision in his mind, face contemplative as he came to a decision.

“Fine, fine.” He said at last, “you’re right — what could it hurt? Day after tomorrow, bring her round to the Skaikru training room, say an hour after noon. Happy, O?”

“You know, Bell, I’m going to look forward to receiving your apology for having been such an incredible _ass_ after you realize how right I was.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see, O,” he said with a laugh, leaning back and returning to his book, “we’ll see.”

 

—

 

“Tomorrow?”

“Clarke, wait—“

“As in, _tomorrow_ tomorrow?”

“Okay, just listen—“

“Octavia, what the _fuck!”_

The next day, Octavia met Clarke at Lincoln’s gym for their regular training sessions, finishing off their morning routine before letting her in on the news. Their initial sparring match had gone well—really well—and Octavia assumed that after the morning’s success, Clarke herself would be able to see that she was more than capable of handling the Skaikru audition. However, to say that Clarke was less than pleased at the news would have been something of an understatement.

“You know, I don’t see the big deal,” Raven said casually from where she sat along the wall. This was only her third time tagging along with Clarke, but she’d seemed relatively impressed by the gym and Octavia’s training regime and the two had come to something of a truce — a welcome break from their earlier hostility. She wasn’t able to frequently take time off from her job at Future Industries, but Clarke appreciated Raven spending her precious days off accompanying her to her training sessions. There was something relaxing and comforting about having such a familiar face and supportive presence in the room. Usually.

“You don’t see what the big deal is?” Clarke asked, flustered and astounded. After Octavia had told her of the time of her audition, she’d stood in a bewildered silence before she took to pacing around the room, ranting furiously, hands gesticulating emphatically to underscore her points. “You’re telling me you see no issue with springing this on me at the last minute?” 

“No, not really.” Raven said, unfazed by the near-murderous look Clarke was giving her. “This is what you’ve been training for, right? This is why you’ve come back to Griffin Estate every night for the past two weeks with more bruises than I can count and that damn silly grin plastered on your face.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and giving Clarke a stern look. “I mean isn’t auditioning for Skaikru the whole goddamn point of all this?”

“Well, I _suppose_ —“

“And if not now, when?” Raven pressed, quirking up an eyebrow. “The details and subtleties of different bending styles might be lost on me—I’ll admit it—but even I can see how quickly you’ve picked this up and how capable you’ve become.”

“I mean—“

“And, considering the way Murphy performs in the ring, Skaikru’s season might not last much longer.” Raven leaned back, propping her feet up on the bench and gave Clarke’s sputtering an unimpressed look. “Listen, you know you’re ready and Octavia knows you’re ready—hell, even _I_ know you’re ready—and tomorrow is as good a time as any.” Turning her head away to the small bit of machinery in her hands she’d brought along to tinker with, she waved a hand dismissively, “now go back to trying to beat the shit out of each other, or whatever it is you usually do next.”

“She is right, you know.” Octavia said, walking across the room to where Clarke squared up for the next set of drills. “We really may not have that much time left and you _are_ ready for this. I mean that sincerely — I wouldn’t have spoken to Bell otherwise.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Clarke said irritably, feet shifting into her stance. “You’re both incredibly brilliant and I’m just a stubborn jackass. _Now_ I only have one more day to get in shape before I meet Miller and your brother, someone you’ve assured me is guaranteed to hate me, well, pretty much on sight.” She flexed her fingers, feeling the tug of the water in the troughs as she focused in on the targets ahead of her. “I have a feeling I have some stress and anxiety I probably need to work out of my system before tomorrow, _so_ , if you don’t mind, now I would very much like to hit something.”

With that, Clarke launched into her next set of drills, setting shot after shot of water across the room, decisively hitting the targets, oblivious to the distinctly amused look Raven and Octavia exchanged as she practiced.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright I'm not /entirely/ thrilled with this chapter and it is something of a filler, but I also hate how long it's been since I've updated and I wanted to at least post /something/ before I get around to tackling Bellamy and Clarke's first interaction (which is absolutely going to take place in the next chapter)
> 
> anyway, hopefully this works as an alright filler and hopefully it won't take me too long to write chapter nine (in which they will definitely meet, I promise. nine chapters in, it will finally happen)


	9. Chapter 9

_Relax, just relax._ Clarke repeated to herself, working to keep her breaths slow and measured as she walked with Raven and Octavia through the pro-bending arena to the Skaikru training room. Her hands clenched as she tried to still the slight tremors running through her shaking fingers, her anxiety and nerves apparent in their unsteadiness. Raven bumped her with her shoulder, her posture enviably relaxed and easy and a broad grin stretched across her face.

“It’s just up here,” Octavia said, her voice interrupting the rhythm created from the echoes of their boot heels on the floor. The anxious pit in Clarke’s stomach grew, gnawing at her delicate sense of self-confidence. The temptation to just _run_ felt almost overwhelming — she could leave here and now, risk nothing, gain nothing, return home to a life of comfortable and easy monotony. It wasn’t too late to give up on the whole venture.

But she was a Griffin.

And Griffins do not run.

“Remember, Clarke,” Octavia said as her steps began to slow to a halt in front of a set of double doors, “you’ve worked like hell for this, and you’ve _earned_ it. So show them.” She reached for the handle and then paused. “And don’t let Bell push you around — because I can guarantee you, he’ll try. If you want to be a part of this team, you’ve got to surprise him, earn his respect.” She gave Clarke a once over and grinned, “but knowing you, that shouldn’t be too hard.

“Ready?”

“As ready as I can be.” Clarke said, taking a few more breaths to steady her nerves. “Let’s go.”

And with that, Octavia pulled open the doors and the three of them walked inside.

The room on the other side was almost identical to the training room where Clarke and Raven had first met Octavia, albeit slightly larger. It was furnished with the same polished hardwood floor and lights running across the ceiling, the entire space bright and well-lit. Troughs of water and stacks of earthbending disks lined the walls, along with a collection of practice dummies that had been hastily pushed to the side. In fact, the space itself would have felt almost comfortable in its familiarity, if not for the two men standing at the center of room, turning from their conversation with each other to face Clarke at the sound of the door opening.

“Hey,” one of them said, crossing the floor to meet her. He stretched out a deeply tanned hand, giving Clarke an easy smile and a firm shake, his eyes light and reassuring. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Nathan Miller.” 

“Yeah,” Clarke said with a slight laugh, “I know who you are. It’s nice to meet you too, I’m—“

“Clarke _fucking_ Griffin. What the _hell_ , Octavia?” A voice said from behind Miller, interrupting Clarke’s next words.

So this was Bellamy.

His stance was casual and easy, arms folded loosely across his chest, the distinct lines and planes of his toned arms and shoulders evident under the loose shirt he wore. Dark and messy curls framed the striking angles of his face, well-defined cheekbones practically painted with his signature freckles. His sharp jawline was visibly clenched as bright and piercing eyes looked Clarke over, arrogant and condescending.

“Bellamy—“ Miller started, turning from Clarke to look back at his teammate.

“Excuse me, Bell?” Octavia asked from behind them as Clarke returned his gaze unflinchingly, cocking an eyebrow as he stared at her scornfully a few feet away.

“Is this your idea of a joke, O?” Bellamy asked, still keeping his eyes locked with hers.

Clarke could see Miller tensing next her, ready to say something else and _knew_ without turning around that Raven and Octavia were both readying to rise to her defense. But this wasn’t about them, and if she was going to earn a spot on this team, _she_ was the one who was going to have to prove herself to the irritatingly good-looking and judgmental prick standing in front of her.

“Is there a problem?” She asked cooly, her face calm and emotionless. 

“Yeah. _You_.” Turning to face Octavia, he said disparagingly, “sorry, O. I appreciate you trying to help, but I don’t think this is going to work out.”

“Well,” Clarke said, fighting to keep her voice steady and even, “seeing as how we’ve never met and you don’t even know me, _dick_ , I’m not quite sure why the hell you’re so certain.” Lending mocking tones to her own words, she added, “and if this is how you run every audition, no wonder you’re still stuck with Murphy. Or was everyone else just too overwhelmed by your charming personality?”

“You think I don’t know you?” Bellamy said with a knowing smile. “Clarke Griffin.” He said, his words exceptionally cocky and annoyingly self-assured. “Daughter of Councilwoman Abigail Griffin and Griffinmobile inventor Jake Griffin.” He took a step towards her, looking her up and down. “Heiress to Future fucking Industries and a goddamn shoe-in for the waterbending seat on the council.” Another step, his proximity threatening Clarke’s carefully calm demeanor. “ _Princess_ of Republic City.” Now he stood directly in front of her, looking down at her through unfairly thick, dark lashes. “And who could forget the scandal? Republic City’s golden child _caught and arrested at an Equalist Rally_.” He gave her a knowing and unimpressed smile. “I know _exactly_ who you are, _Princess.”_ He stepped back, turning away from her. “And I _know_ you can’t cut it. So why don’t you save us both the time and trouble and run on home. This isn’t for you.”

Behind her carefully composed expression, Clarke _seethed_. How _dare_ this arrogant and condescending jackass _dare_ to presume _anything_ about her. Next to her, she could hear Miller protesting Bellamy’s decision and Octavia employing some exceptionally colorful language against her older brother. And seeing the assured and dismissive set of his stance, she nearly gave in to her significantly strong impulse to blast the cocky dickhead with as much water as the room contained, knuckles white as she clenched her fists tightly, nails carving small crescent moons into her palms. But she just waited, breathing slowly until she trusted her voice and temper to be under control.

“Prove it.” Clarke said, her voice even and steady.

At that, he turned back around, looking skeptical and almost amused. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I just assumed that perfect hearing _must_ be part of your qualities as you’re clearly the gods’ fucking gift to mankind.” Taking a step of her own in his direction, she threw the challenge again. “I said, _prove it_.”

“Prove what?” He asked, the slightest hint of a question creeping into his words for the first time since she’d walked through the door.

“You’re so sure I can’t cut it? _Prove it_. You think you know me so well? Think I don’t have what it takes? _Prove. It_.” She opened her arms wide. “If you’re as goddamn wonderful as you seem to think you are, and if I’m really the incompetent _princess_ that you claim I am, it shouldn’t take you anytime at all, should it?”

“You want to fight _me_?” He asked, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

“It would be my _goddamn pleasure_.” She said, her words cold and icy as steel.

“And _when_ I win?”

Clarke shrugged, “then you’ve madeyour point. I don’t have what it takes and I will, as you so eloquently put it _, run on home_.” She watched him pause, considering her words.

“And if you win?“ He asked.

“ _When_ I win,” she corrected, wearing a smile of her own, “you give me a proper goddamn audition and let me _prove_ to you that I am the best fucking candidate for the job.” She raised her eyebrows, as he tilted his head, turning over the proposition in his mind.

“What the hell,” he said, his words light and unconcerned, “I guess I can spare a couple minutes to show you just how _right_ I am.” He looked past Clarke to where Miller stood, “you’ll be the judge?”

His teammate nodded slowly, looking between the two of them, his face both slightly perplexed and intrigued by the turn of events.

“Kick his ass, Clarke.” Raven said as she and Octavia moved to take seats along the wall.

“Come on Griffin, make me proud.” Octavia echoed, looking cheerful and unconcerned as Bellamy and Clarke squared up on either side of the line.

“Whose side are you on, O?” Bellamy called, his words light.

“Hers.” Octavia responded with a grin.

“Since we’re missing the luxury of an actual court,” Miller said, taking up a position against the wall at the center line, “we’ll say first one knocked out of the back of their side of the court wins. Standard rules apply.” Across the room, Clarke watched Bellamy settle into a bending stance that seemed as familiar and natural to him as breathing. On her own half of the court, she allowed her feet to shift into the positions Octavia had drilled her on for weeks, fingers flexing, shoulders relaxed as she waited for Miller’s go ahead. There was an ease and assurance to Bellamy’s sentence that advertised his confidence, yet the anxiety and nerves that had plagued Clarke all morning were wonderfully, conspicuously, absent.

Octavia was right, she _could_ do this.

“On my mark.” He said, looking between the two of them. “Ready… _go!”_

If Octavia fought with the power and precision of lightning, then Bellamy was a goddamn _hurricane_. Having seen him fight before, Clarke knew he was capable of weaving through attacks like air, firing with perfect accuracy and never wasting a shot. But today he was clearly determined to blast her out of the court as fast as he could — determined to prove that she really was nothing more than a spoiled goddamn princess. His shots came fast and brutal and relentless, keeping Clarke constantly on the move, wearing a grin the entire time that only grew as Clarke nimbly evaded his attacks.

“Should have known you were taught how to dance, Princess.” He called across the court between shots. “Don’t feel like fighting back? Worried about damaging my pretty face?”

“What can I say, Blake?” She responded between three successive blasts. “Guess I’m just waiting for you to burn yourself.” She landed, paused, and returned Bellamy’s cocky grin with an unimpressed stare of her own. “But hell, with that face, a couple burns would probably be an improvement.”

“Whatever you want to tell yourself, Princess,” he said, finally landing a shot that briefly sent Clarke stumbling. With the reflexes drilled into her from Octavia’s seemingly endless practices, Clarke moved out of the way before Bellamy could send her out of the court and end the match for good.

The pace was unflagging and goddamn _nonstop_ , but this was what Octavia had trained her for, and as she breezed between Bellamy’s attacks, she began to pull the water from the troughs and and send her own attacks across the line, putting Bellamy on the defensive. She may not have had his months, if not years, of expertise, but his style was powerfully reminiscent of his younger sister, and she was someone that Clarke _knew_ how to fight. She began to anticipate the places Bellamy prepared to move to, nicking him with her own attacks that left him looking surprised.

“Been teaching her my tricks, O?” He called to the sidelines, as Clarke hit him with a shot that sent him reeling dangerously close to the back of the court.

“Give her some credit Bell,” Octavia said, her and Raven both watching eagerly as Clarke only narrowly missed knocking Bellamy out. “She picked it up on her own.”

As Bellamy moved across the court, Clarke saw the brief flash of her opportunity for a winning shot. But as she readied herself for the series of blasts she needed, she missed the attack Bellamy snuck in that caught her off-balance, the shot sending her tumbling to the floor. She tried to lunge out of the way of Bellamy’s next attack but the last blast had left her unsteady and off balance, and she wasn’t quite fast enough to dodge his next shot, hitting her squarely in the side. With agonizing and frustrating finality, Clarke felt herself fall to the floor, rolling as her body tumbled across the court and past the back line.

Son of a fucking _bitch_.

Bellamy had won.

As she pulled herself resignedly from the floor, she looked over at Octavia and Raven, not quite ready to see the look of smug satisfaction she just _knew_ would be waiting on Bellamy’s face. She heard Miller say something, but the words were empty, pointless. She knew she’d lost. Slowly, she stretched her aching muscles and turned to face the goddamn victor, not sure if her bruised pride could take the barbs and insults he’d get to throw her way, vindicated in his analysis of her.

But as she turned to face his half of the court, she saw him standing close to the center line, looking at her with an expression that seemed distinctly surprised. Clarke clenched her jaw, facing him with a determined and unyielding expression. The barbs that seemed such an inevitability never came, though. Instead he just stood there, head cocked as he considered her, silent. 

“Come back tomorrow.” He said finally. “At ten. Same place.”

“Wait, what?” Clarke said, mouth slightly open in surprise. “I _lost_. You made your goddamn point, Blake. What the hell are you—“

“Tomorrow.” He said again, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips at Clarke’s look of absolute indignation and utter confusion. “Unless that’s too complicated for you, Princess? Should I call one of your butlers to write it down for you?” As Clarke stood, fishing for some kind of appropriate response, he let out a slight laugh, walking across the line to where Octavia stood with Raven. He put a hand on her shoulder, and said softly, “well done, O,” before heading for the door.

“Don’t be late, Princess.” He called over his shoulder as he left, leaving Clarke agape in the middle of the court, Octavia, Raven, and Miller looking as confused as she felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man -- so here it is. nine chapters and 15k words later and I finally give you the very first bellamy/clarke interaction. this was definitely tricky and kind of difficult to write, but I hope the relationship works. apologies for how long it took to deliver and I desperately hope it doesn't disappoint
> 
> (also a massive thanks to my wonderful beta reader -- you know who you are and please remind me of your ao3 account name so I can give you proper credit)


	10. Chapter 10

A few minutes before ten saw Clarke standing alone outside the door of the Skaikru training room, shifting restlessly on the balls of her feet as she stared at the impassive door in front of her. Raven and Octavia had both offered to accompany her to the second round of her Skaikru audition, but Clarke had declined.

“I appreciate the offer,” she’d said. “Really, I do. But as much as I’d like to have both of you there with me, I think that this is something I need to do on my own.”

And though it’d sounded like a good idea at the time, now, facing the prospect of squaring off against Miller and Bellamy without Raven and Octavia around to support and cheer her on, Clarke was feeling distinctly less sure about her decision. Without allowing herself any more time to dwell on the situation and work herself into a state of nervous anxiety, she reached for the handle and stepped inside.

“Glad you could make it, Princess,” she heard Bellamy say as she crossed the threshold, his deep voice carrying clearly through the large space. He was lounging easily on one of the benches that lined the wall, looking comfortable and at ease with Miller sitting beside him. Though Clarke was too far away to see him clearly, she was willing to bet a sizable piece of her family’s fortune that she’d find a familiar teasing spark in his dark eyes. “And here we were wondering if you’d gotten lost.”

“We?” Miller chimed in, one eyebrow raised skeptically as he looked at his teammate. “Excuse you, Bell, but I had absolute faith in her.” He turned to face Clarke, giving her a warm and easy smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too.” Clarke said as she walked over to where the two of them waited along the wall, sending a sincere smile of her own in Miller’s direction, something about his presence immediately helping to put her at ease. “And wondering if I’d gotten lost? Is that your way of saying you were worried about me, Blake?” She asked, turning her attention to the Skaikru captain, allowing a teasing smile of her own to momentarily cross her face.

“Hardly.” Bellamy said as she drew closer, looking her over with the same amused and appraising stare he’d given her the day before. “Just happy to see you managed to make it here without someone holding your hand.” He pulled himself to his feet with an almost feline level of grace, taking advantage of his considerable height to look down at her, arms crossed loosely over the broad planes of his chest.

“Ready to get started?” Though his tone was light and friendly, there was no mistaking the definite note of a challenge in his words.

“Ready when you are, Blake.”

And with that, the audition began.

As Octavia had explained, the two things they were looking for in a potential teammate were talent and temperament—not only the ability to hold her own in the ring, but to work with both of them as the third component of a well-functioning machine—a point that was explained and reiterated by both Miller and Bellamy as the three of them made their way to the center of the room. As such, they explained, the audition would consist of one-on-one fights to allow them to gauge Clarke’s individual talent, as well as a couple two-on-one fights to see how she worked in tandem with both of them.

“If, after all that, we like what we see,” Bellamy concluded, his tone casual, “then congratulations — you’ll be finding yourself in the Skaikru black next time we face off in that arena.” He shrugged, the almost professional nature of his words giving way to that slightly mocking tone that was becoming all-too familiar. “But keep in mind, Princess, no one’s made it that far, yet. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“Yeah?” Clarke asked, her tone challenging. “Well why don’t we just wait and see, Blake. I’ll look forward to hearing that apology of yours when this is over.”

“Keep dreaming, Princess. I don’t need to say sorry after I’ve been proven right.”

Considering that Bellamy and Clarke had squared off before—albeit in slightly unconventional circumstances—he’d already been afforded ample opportunity to observe and take note of her bending style. As such, to start off the audition, she’d be facing off in a one-on-one against Miller with Bellamy officiating.

“On my mark,” Bellamy said once Clarke and Miller were in position, glancing between the two of them with a considering and perceptive stare. “Go!”

Whereas yesterday Bellamy had barely given Clarke a moment to breathe, let alone try some of the new attacks she’d learned with Octavia, Miller fought with a pace that was distinctly more manageable. Having seen him fight in the arena, Clarke knew he was holding back — unlike Bellamy, he wasn’t trying to blast her out the back of the court as fast as possible, rather, wanted to really measure and test her skill level as a pro-bender. Feeling more and more comfortable as the match progressed, Clarke continued to meet Miller step-for-step, sending him dangerously close to the back line as often as he did to her. As they continued, he began to pick up the pace, sending the earthbending discs at an increasingly faster velocity, keeping Clarke on her toes as she did her best to remember everything Octavia’d taught her about weaving between the shots. But despite how well she’d done thus far, all it took was one misstep for Clarke to land in the way of one of Miller’s one-two combo, falling and tumbling out of the back of the court as she kicked herself for the obvious mistake.

“That was good.” She heard someone say. As she looked up she realized that, unexpectedly, the words had come not from Miller, but from Bellamy. Clarke glanced up to see him walking over to where she lay on the ground, Miller joining him not far behind. He stretched out a hand to her and she took it, ignoring the sudden and unexpected feeling of warmth as his calloused fingers wrapped around her hand, and doing her best to avoid staring at the flex of the muscles in his forearm as he pulled her to her feet.

“Good? _Really_? In case you somehow missed what just happened, I _lost_.” She protested, brushing pieces of a shattered earthbending disc from her clothes and not quite meeting Bellamy’s and Miller’s gaze. “And I’m fairly fucking certain you two aren’t looking for someone who routinely gets her ass handed to her.”

At that, Bellamy laughed, looking over at Miller who seemed similarly amused. “Relax, Princess. No one we’ve auditioned so far has managed to beat either of us.”

“But we also don’t expect them to.” Miller chimed in. “In a drill like this, winning isn’t the point. What we really want to know is how you fight — how do you handle yourself in a situation with high stakes when you’re under pressure, up against a seasoned pro-bender.” Clarke nodded slowly in understanding, as the purpose of the drill was no different from those early training sessions with Octavia.

“Besides,” Bellamy added, “these aren’t exactly regulation courts where you’ve got three zones instead of one. In a real match, one misstep like that doesn’t make the difference between winning and losing.” He paused. “Usually.”

“Still,” Clarke said bitterly, wincing as her hands skated over a developing bruise on her side, “I don’t like to lose.”

“Well if it’s any consolation, Princess,” Bellamy said, nodding slowly in a manner that almost seemed approving, “against most other pro-benders, you won’t.”

She looked up at him in surprise, eyebrows raised slightly. “Careful, Blake. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Bellamy laughed again, his face easy and open. “Don’t get used to it. Besides, there’s still _plenty_ of fighters in the tournament who could send you into the water in a damn _second_.” He turned away and ambled back to the center of the room, readying for the next match. “So don’t start getting cocky, Princess,” he called over his shoulder.

“Coming from you?” Clarke asked incredulously, looking over at Miller who raised his hands in mock surrender.

“I’m not going to apologize for knowing that I’m good.” Bellamy said, juggling a small ball of fire between his palms. “Especially not when I’ve got the skills to back it up. Now hurry up, Princess — we haven’t got all day.”

After some grumbling from Clarke and a series of very choice and colorful descriptors for Bellamy, all of which elicited a smile from Miller, they moved into the next drill. Having both had the chance to see how she fought on her own, the next drill was designed to see how she worked as part of a team. Without the luxury of two full pro-bending teams and a full-sized court for the audition, the best they could do was a series of two-on-one drills that would allow her the opportunity to work in tandem with both of them, first with Miller, then Bellamy.

Together, she and Miller reset the training room for the match, bending the water back into the troughs as he collected the earthbending discs and stacked them along the wall. Once they were ready, she and Miller shifted into position. During her training with Octavia, the younger Blake sibling had told her to expect a drill like this during her audition, and when Lincoln had a few free moments, he’d volunteered his time to allow Clarke the opportunity to practice fighting alongside different potential teammates. But whereas fighting with Octavia felt natural and easy after their many hours of practice, and teaming up with another waterbender like Lincoln offered little challenge, Clarke was feeling distinctly unsure as she glanced over at the strong and steady earthbender standing beside her. Remembering Octavia’s repeated message that fighting as part of a pro-bending team was a process of give and take, Clarke took a couple deep breaths and relaxed, eyes focused in on where Bellamy stood on the other side of the court.

“Ready… _go!”_

That Bellamy had to split his attacks between the two of them lent Clarke and Miller an obvious advantage, and they quickly settled into a rhythm of alternating between offense and defense that allowed them to send Bellamy dancing close to the back line. As they lacked the months of experience and synchronization that usually existed between members of a pro-bending team, they occasionally had to rely on verbal cues to coordinate their attacks, Miller’s occasional warnings helping Clarke work as an asset to her teammate, rather than a hindrance. As Miller was already well familiar with Bellamy’s fighting style, it didn’t take long for him to exploit the weaknesses in Bellamy’s defense, opening up an opportunity for Clarke to take the final shot that sent him reeling over the back line.

“I’ll give you that one, Princess.” Bellamy called out as he used his bending to dry the water from his clothes. “Trust me, it won’t happen again.”

“I don’t know, Bell.” Miller said, giving Clarke an encouraging look. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Ignoring the skeptical look Bellamy had adopted, Clarke smiled at Miller in gratitude who nodded in response. She began to bend the water back into the troughs as he and Bellamy moved across the center line to switch sides. With Miller now standing alone on the far side of the training room, that left Bellamy on the same side of the line as Clarke. 

“Remember, Princess, this isn’t about being flashy or showing off.” Bellamy said as they moved into position. “It’s about working together as a team — think you can manage that?”

“Funny.” Clarke murmured in response. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.” With her eyes focused on where Miller stood, she missed the brief grin her words had prompted from him as they squared up for the match.

Considering that their every interaction since that first meeting had been at least somewhat contentious, Clarke had no _idea_ how the two of them would manage to work together with the fluidity and coordination necessary for a pro-bending team. If she wanted to be a part of the team though—and _fuck_ did she want it—she would have to find a way to fight in tandem with Bellamy Blake.

“Ready… _go!_ ”

But for all that Bellamy was arrogant and condescending and judgmental and sarcastic and a general _jackass_ , Clarke did have to admit that he was one _hell_ of a fighter. Having seen him fight both in the arena and in a much closer and more personal setting, Clarke knew that he was holding back his own attacks to give her the windows and opportunities to take shots of her own. It seemed that he genuinely did want to see how she might work as a potential teammate, and Clarke was eager and determined to prove to him just how capable she was, taking every moment he presented and learning from his style to set him up with his own opportunities as well. Remembering how he’d fought in their match the day before, recognizing the similarities between his and Octavia’s style, it wasn’t long before she and Bellamy were working together in silent and flawless tandem, anticipating each other’s movements and fighting in spectacular coordination. The match was a brief and fast-paced affair, and it wasn’t long before Bellamy’s jets of fire and Clarke’s silvery streams of water came together to break through Miller’s defenses and send him out of the back of the court.

“Well, shit, you two.” Miller laughed as he pulled himself to his feet. “At least give me a chance next time.” 

Clarke couldn’t help but give a small smile at that, turning to congratulate her teammate only to see him staring at her with the same amused and perplexed look he’d had the day before after he’d won their match.

“Not bad, Princess.” Bellamy finally conceded as Miller made his way over to where they stood. He turned to face Miller, who was looking at him with an unreadable expression. It seemed that her part of the audition process had finished, and while Clarke was desperate to ask what the their verdict was, she kept silent as she glanced between the two of them, fighting to stay patient.

“Listen, we need a few moments to chat.” Bellamy said at last, turning from Miller to stare at Clarke. “Would you mind waiting outside in the hall for a bit? It shouldn’t take long and we’ll come get you when we’re done.”

Clarke looked between the two of them, but nothing in their faces was giving her any sort of indication as to what they might be thinking. With a slight nod towards them both, she turned and headed for the door, mind racing and heart pounding as she wondered what was going to happen next.


	11. Chapter 11

“Clarke?”

She’d been pacing back and forth along the same stretch of floor in the hallway outside, listening to the sound of her footsteps echoing in the small space when she heard someone call her name. Caught off-guard and off-balance, she turned quickly on her heel, hoping her expression was one of cool and collected patience, rather than revealing the frantic nerves and anxiety that had been plaguing her since Miller and Bellamy had sent her outside to wait. As she turned, she saw Miller standing just past the door, his face neutral and unexpressive as he watched Clarke.

“Can I come back inside now?” She asked, words slightly hesitant as she attempted a half smile. Despite her efforts at levity though, Miller responded with a small frown, one hand absently rubbing the back of his neck.

“Actually,” he began, “I have to get going.” At that, Clarke could feel her spirits sink, her already fragile and diminished confidence weakened a little further. Either way it went, she knew she would have preferred Miller’s steady and reassuring presence in the room with her, rather than facing Bellamy and hearing his verdict on her own. Seeing her face fall slightly, Miller offered a smile of his own. “It’ll be fine, Clarke, really. And if Bell misbehaves, well,” he gave her a knowing grin, “I think we both know that you can take him.” With that, Clarke couldn’t help but return the smile, immeasurably grateful for Miller’s small efforts to put her at ease. 

As he took a few steps down the hall, he paused beside Clarke, putting a hand on her shoulder as he gave her an understanding and reassuring look. “Listen, Clarke, it’s been great meeting you, and—without giving away any spoilers—I feel confident in saying this won’t be the last time we see each other.” With that, he smiled, gave a nod, and continued walking off down the corridor.

“And don’t let Bellamy push you around!” He called over his shoulder as he left, raising a hand in farewell. Clarke gave a small grin as she watched him round the corner at the end of the hall, the sound of his footfalls slowly fading away into silence.

Alone in the space once again, Clarke shifted her gaze to look back at the training room door. With Miller having given her so little to go on, Clarke was left feeling unsure of what to expect or anticipate from Bellamy. She did know with some certainty, though, that she would never find out their answer by standing here in front of the door. Steeling her nerves once again, she headed inside, ready as she could be for her next interaction with Bellamy Blake.

“Welcome back, Princess.” He said as she entered, his deep, distinctive voice carrying clearly through the empty room to where Clarke stood just on the other side of the threshold. The words had come from against the wall where Bellamy waited, seated comfortably with one leg on either side of the bench, arms resting on his knees as he looked up at her. With a lazy wave of his hand, he motioned her over to join him, making no other movement as she approached except to gesture for her to take a seat in front of him. Once she’d settled, he began.

“So, after a fair amount of back-and-forth, Miller and I finally came to an agreement,” Bellamy started. 

“Thing is, Princess,” he paused slightly, “this isn’t quite as simple as a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.” 

At that, Clarke frowned slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let me explain,” he said, carefully watching the unsure expression on her face. “See, Miller thinks you’re an obvious yes. He thinks you’ve more than proved that you’re capable of holding your own, that you can work well with either of us, and for all that you’re inexperienced, you’ve got a lot of promise. After yesterday and today, he thinks you’d be the perfect waterbender for Skaikru.” Seeing the hesitation written clearly on his face, Clarke understood.

“But you don’t.” 

Bellamy gave a slight grin at her blunt words. “Patience, Princess — let me finish. I don’t think Miller is _wrong_ about you, at least when it comes to your skills. You _have_ proved yourself over the past few days and you’d certainly be able to hold your own in the ring against most any pro-benders you’d come up against.” He shook his head ruefully. “I’ll be honest — yesterday, I wasn’t expecting it to take much to win. In fact, from you, I wasn’t really expecting much of a fight at all.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He held up a hand, “but, as it turned out, you were _nothing_ like I thought you'd be. I mean _hell_ , Princess, you almost had me beat more than once. I misjudged you and you sure as _shit_ proved me wrong.” At the look of shock and confusion that crossed her face, Bellamy laughed. “No need to act so surprised — I can admit when I’ve made a mistake.” In response to that, Clarke couldn’t help but give a slight smile of her own, still unsure how to feel about the sudden and unexpected compliments.

“Point is, Miller’s right about you. You do have the skills we’re looking for _and_ you showed that you can work well with either of us.”

“Then what am I missing? What’s the problem?” Clarke pressed, confused and thrown by Bellamy’s clear ambivalence.

“Bluntly, Princess, the problem is _you_.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“If you were anyone else, this wouldn’t even be a conversation.” Bellamy said, his words casual and nonplussed. “If you were anyone else, after having seen your bending, I’d be offering you a spot on the team right now.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, hands folded. “But you _aren’t_ anyone else. You’re Clarke Griffin, and that’s why this isn’t a simple matter of ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

“The _hell_ is that supposed to mean?” Clarke asked, her emotions a warring mix of anger and confusion.

“Yesterday and today demonstrated that you’ve got the skills we’ve been wanting to see and, don’t get me wrong, that’s a damn vital component. But, as I’m sure you’ve picked up from O and from today’s teamwork drills, pro-bending isn’t just about having the talent — there needs to be trust as well.” He leaned back slightly and gave a small shrug. “Without trust between teammates, this whole dynamic falls apart. And, to put it simply Princess, I don’t trust you.”

As Clarke listened to Bellamy deliver his verdict, his tone casual and unconcerned, she clenched her jaw to keep from arguing or fighting or speaking before she trusted her voice to stay under control.

“Mind telling me why not?” She asked slowly, working hard to keep her words steady.

“Because I don’t trust your motives for being here.” Bellamy said, apparently unfazed by the anger radiating off Clarke. “Because I don’t think you’re really serious about this. And because this is _important_ to me, and I won’t risk mine and Miller’s shot at winning the tournament on someone who’s been coddled her whole damn life and who only seems to make decisions with the intention of pissing off her mother.”

“Wait — _what_? What the _fuck_ makes you say that?” Clarke fired back, fighting desperately to keep her temper under control as Bellamy looked her over with that trademark condescending stare.

“ _Really_ , Princess? Come on. _Everyone_ knew how Councilwoman Griffin felt about the Equalist movement — hell, she’d been railing against it in the papers for _months_. Then, right as she’s on the brink of passing legislation that would outlaw the whole goddamn party, her daughter—the ‘golden child’ of Republic City—is caught and arrested at one of their rallies, undermining everything she’d been speaking about and working towards. Why else would you have been there if not to serve as some pissy act of teenage rebellion?”

“Look—“

“And it’s also not exactly a secret how she feels about pro-bending. She’s been denouncing the sport and anyone who participates in it since it became competitive. Now, after all that, her same daughter is attending pro-bending matches and looking to make it onto one of the teams? And I’m supposed to believe that this is all just some fantastic coincidence? Believe what you want about me, but I’m _far_ from an idiot. And I will _not_ jeopardize what I’ve worked _so_ _goddamn hard for_ just so you can get a rise out of the Councilwoman.

“Which is why I don’t think this is going to work out. Sorry, Princess.”

With those words, Bellamy made a move to rise from the bench, his tone and posture final and dismissive as he began heading for the door.

“ _Wait.”_

He turned, his expression casual. “What?”

“You’re out of your _goddamn mind_ if you think that’s the end of this conversation.” Clarke said, barely managing to keep the _fury_ she was feeling out of her words as she stood to face Bellamy.

“Am I?” He asked, looking unconcerned, arms folded across his chest. “What makes you think there’s anything more to say?”

“Because, you arrogant _bastard_ , you don’t know _shit_ about _any of this—”_

“You god _damn_ , _melodramatic_ , _princess_ ,” Bellamy said sharply, rolling his eyes as he gave Clarke a contemptuous look. “You think you’re some big mystery? I _know_ _exactly_ what I’m talking about.”

Maybe it was the look on his face—that fucking mix of judgment and condescension and superiority that Clarke had been seeing on the faces of damn near _everyone_ she’d encountered since coming back to the city—or maybe it was the unimpressed set of his stance that so easily dismissed how goddamn _hard_ she had worked for this, or maybe it was that, after everything, Clarke was just feeling so fucking _tired._

_“_ Yeah,” Clarke said with a slight exhale, shoulders sinking a little as she dropped back onto the bench, all the fire and rage evaporating from her words, “you and everyone else in this goddamn city.”

After only ever having seen Clarke full of anger and determination, staring him down with that stubborn set of her jaw, something about seeing her looking so _resigned_ threw Bellamy, jarring him enough to drop his expression of scorn and disdain, to take a few steps closer towards where Clarke sat on the bench, head lowered, silent. Even though he still kept his arms crossed determinedly across his chest, the look on his face had shifted into one of confusion and something almost resembling concern.

“What are you trying to say, Princess?” He asked, one eyebrow raised as he looked down at her.

“I just…” Clarke said slowly, eyes down, voice quiet, “just give me a chance to explain, Bellamy. _Please_.”

She waited for what felt like a goddamn _eternity_ , eventually tilting her head up just enough to meet his gaze.

“Alright,” he said at last. “I’m listening.”

Clarke nodded gratefully, looking away from Bellamy’s pensive stare as she searched for the right words.

“The first thing you need to know is that _this,_ ” she tilted her head towards the training room, raising her hands slightly to indicate the space, “isn’t, and never has been, about my mother.” She paused, waiting to see if Bellamy was going to interrupt. To her surprise, he kept silent, nodding his head slightly for her to go on.

“The second thing you need to know,” she said, her words hesitant, “is that what happened _then_ —going to the Equalist rally, getting caught, getting _arrested_ —none of that was about my mother either.”

“But—“ Bellamy began before catching himself. As she looked at him, as if expecting a further interruption, he shook his head, mouth closed.

“Patience, Blake — let me finish.” Clarke said, lips quirking up slightly as she echoed his words from earlier, to which Bellamy responded with a wry grin.

“Out of curiosity, though, how much _do_ you know about the Equalist movement?” She asked him.

He gave a small shrug, “not much. A political party that cropped up a few years back focusing on promoting the rights of non-benders. Tends to attract extremists and they’ve been accused of more than a couple acts of terrorism.”

“And for a while, that was all I knew about them, too. My mother didn’t exactly encourage discussion about them in our home and, considering how viscerally she’d been condemning their actions, it was—unsurprisingly—difficult to find people who’d be willing to talk about the movement with Abby Griffin’s daughter.” Clarke paused, frowning slightly. “Understand that I’m not saying I agreed with the actions they took or their methods, far from it. But…” Again she hesitated as she hunted for the right words. “I still wanted to know more. I wanted to _understand_. I couldn’t believe that they were as narrow-minded and _hateful_ as my mother made them out to be.

“I didn’t agree with their methods, but I still thought what they were saying was _important_. My father and one of my best friends are both non-benders,” Clarke continued, “and before hearing about Equalism, I—embarrassed as I am to admit it—never really considered what it might be like to live in a place like Republic City as a non-bender. What it might be like to have the Council and the police force and even our goddamn sports revolving entirely around benders — to be so fundamentally underrepresented and _ignored_.

“Because that’s clearly bullshit, right? Being born a bender or a non-bender is just a goddamn flip of a coin — but being on the bending side, I just never really questioned how it might feel to lose out on so _much_ because of this one fact you have no control over.” Clarke paused, taking a deep breath. As she looked up at Bellamy, she saw that the look of judgement had faded from his face, that he instead looked down at her with an expression both perplexed and intrigued. Seeing he had no intentions of interrupting or speaking up, Clarke went on.

“I thought…naive as this sounds…that if I could really understand what they were advocating for, maybe I could talk to my mother…maybe the two of them could find some middle ground. But, with no one around who was exactly eager to break down the mechanics of the Equalist movement to the daughter of their most outspoken opponent, I went to the source.

“ _No one_ was supposed to find out that I was there, I _swear_. I was just going to go, to listen, maybe try and talk to one or two of the supporters, but that’s _it_.” Clarke looked down, familiar feelings of bitterness and frustration rising at the memory. “But then everything just got so out of _control_. That fight started and the police had just been _waiting_ for an excuse to break up one of their rallies and I couldn’t get away before they caught me.

“And of course it looked like Abby Griffin’s spoiled and rebellious daughter acting out — because, as you so eloquently put it, why _else_ would I have been there? That one stupid moment—that one goddamn _mistake_ —covered the pages of the papers for _weeks_ — every bender and non-bender under the _fucking_ _sun_ passing judgements on who I was and what a goddamn _disappointment_ I’d become.

“So, to preserve her own reputation more than anything else, my mother sent me away — shipped me off to the South Pole for a _year_ to learn my lesson and what comes from disobedience. A pissy act of teenage rebellion? Bellamy, I would have done _anything_ to take back that moment — I spent a _year_ cut off from everyone I knew and loved, do you honestly think that that’s what I wanted? I, _fuck_ —“ Clarke broke off and sighed, giving a short, dejected laugh. “I just wanted to make a _difference._ I just wanted to _help —_ instead, I lost a year of my life and the respect of damn-near everyone who’s ever met me or ever will.”

Clarke’s voice trailed off and silence filled the room as she waited for Bellamy’s reaction.

“And this?” He asked, still looking at her pensively.

“I went to a pro-bending match out of sheer curiosity,” Clarke said. “And it was like _nothing_ I’d ever seen before, so I came back with my friend, Raven.” She gave a slight grin, remembering the experience. “After the match, we ran into Octavia. It was her idea that I audition for Skaikru, and she offered to get me into the shape I needed to make that happen. _But only_ ,” Clarke added, “after she promised me that—if this whole thing ended up working out—we would come up with some way of ensuring that my mother _never_ finds out.” 

She looked up at Bellamy, her words fervent and sincere. “I am _not_ trying to interfere with your chances of winning the tournament, I _promise_. Understand that this _means_ something to me as well — this isn’t an opportunity I would just throw away, Bellamy. This is something I want to be a part of.”

As she finished, as those final words were left hanging, all Clarke could do was sit and wait and see how he might respond. For the first time since walking in the training room, she felt free from the nerves and anxieties that had followed her through every step of the process. She’d done all she could, said all there was to say — after this, whatever happened, happened.

Patiently, Clarke watched as Bellamy slowly uncrossed his arms, holding out a hand to her.

“What—“

“Congratulations, Princess.” He said, the hint of a smile stealing across his face as she tentatively reached out to shake his hand. “Welcome to Skaikru.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the delayed update -- this chapter, despite the fact that I knew exactly what I wanted to happen, was just not working for me and was one /hell/ of a struggle to write
> 
> while I'm still not entirely thrilled with the writing (I probably will revisit it in the future to make some minor edits and adjustments) I hope you all enjoy it, and I will do my best to post the next update in a more timely fashion


	12. Chapter 12

Training with Skaikru was like nothing Clarke had ever experienced before and she loved every goddamn _second_ of it. While her lessons with Octavia had helped prepare her for the relentless pace of pro-bending training sessions, learning to fight in rhythm with Bellamy and Miller presented an entirely new challenge — learning to read and anticipate the actions of her fellow teammates and working her attacks in tandem with theirs. Every day they pushed Clarke to move even faster, hit even harder — to fight with a strength and an intensity she hadn’t imagined she was even capable of. 

“See Bellamy?” Miller called out after Clarke had finished a series of drills that sent the practice dummies lined up against the far wall smashed and skittering to the floor, “I told you she was the right choice.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bellamy said, arms crossed as he watched Clarke, “just don’t forget to watch your stance in between those shots, Princess. You’re still planting your feet as you go in for the next attack. Run it again.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Clarke said under her breath as she went to go reset the practice dummies, her words just loud enough to carry over to Miller and prompt a grin from him.

As for her teammates, though Clarke frequently missed her old sessions with Octavia and Lincoln, the Skaikru training room was beginning to develop its own kind of familiarity as well. She and Miller had easily established a friendship and he was always quick to offer encouragement and reassurance, as well as praise for how quickly her skills had developed and continued to grow. 

Then there was Bellamy.

Fortunately, despite how contentious their first few interactions had been, by Clarke’s first practice with the team, the two had come to something of an unspoken truce — while Bellamy refrained from making any more assumptions and judgements of Clarke, she had managed to forgive his initial pigheadedness and general jackass behavior, as he had acknowledged his errors enough to offer her the spot on the team in the end. After Clarke’s first few practices, they’d quickly realized just how devastating their bending could be when they worked in tandem and, while they weren’t exactly friends, they had managed to find some common ground in a place of mutual respect. 

However, that respect never stopped Bellamy from highlighting and criticizing and correcting every minute flaw in Clarke’s bending style, from her stance to her feet to even her goddamn _breathing_.

“You know, when it comes to waterbending, I do have some idea as to what I’m doing.” Clarke said, slightly irritably as Bellamy adjusted her posture before one of her attacks for the fucking _fourth_ time. “Shockingly enough, I do actually know how to bend.”

“Not like a pro-bender.” He said brusquely.

“Octavia seemed to think I was doing well,” Clarke grumbled, feeling more than a little frustrated with her team captain.

“Yeah, well, Octavia’s not a pro-bender either.” Bellamy responded, breezing past Clarke’s evident annoyance at his actions to adjust the placement of her feet. “But don’t tell her I said that.”

“And miss out on her kicking your ass? No way in _hell_.” 

But for all his criticisms and his corrections and his relentless insistence on nothing less than goddamn _perfection_ , Clarke _did_ have to admit that the asshole was _damn_ talented. And—though she’d never admit it to his face—his relentless reminders and unflagging attention to her flaws actually _worked_. Determined to meet his ever escalating bar of approval, Clarke fixated on the notes he gave her and adjustments he made, drilling them over and over and _over_ until the patterns and routines sank into her skin, etched sharply into her aching limbs and muscles. The technical details starting to become second nature allowed Clarke the freedom to observe and analyze her opponents with focus and clarity, her body learning to instinctively dance through the steps with newfound fluidity and ease as her mind made rapid-fire calculations and decisions. 

So, maybe—in this singular and very specific case—Clarke could admit that Bellamy was right.

 

—

 

“Before you go, Princess, a couple of things to go over, first.”

Clarke had been sweeping up the remaining pebbles and debris on the far side of the training room, bending excess water back into the troughs and generally working to ensure that the space was left clean and undamaged when she heard Bellamy’s words. The end of that day’s practice marked a little over a week since she’d joined Skaikru — having been granted a bye for the week allowed them more time than they’d initially been expecting to train with and teach Clarke, but their next competition—Clarke’s official pro-bending debut—was scheduled for only a few days away. 

To say she was feeling anxious would have been a spectacular understatement.

“Alright,” Clarke called back to where Miller and Bellamy waited near the center of the room. “Anything I should be worried about?” She asked, brushing dust from her palms as she walked over to them. 

Bellamy shook his head in response. “No, no — just some logistical things.”

“Figured we best get everything sorted out before your first match,” Miller added. “Speaking of, how are you feeling about that?” He asked, seeing the somewhat uneasy expression on Clarke’s face.

“Ah… _well_ …”

“That your way of saying you’re nervous, Princess?”

“I’m not _nervous_ , I’m just—“

“Anxious?” Bellamy quirked an eyebrow, giving her a slightly teasing smile that wasn’t unfriendly. “It’s alright if you are — Miller and I won’t judge you for it. The important thing is to just relax, have some confidence in yourself and your abilities. After that, the rest comes easy.”

“Easy?” Clarke asked, letting out a short, skeptical laugh. “ _Bullshit_. You know I’ve been to pro-bending matches, right? I’ve seen how fast, how non-stop—how _brutal—_ those fights are, and you’re honestly telling me to relax?”

“As absurd as it might sound,” Miller added, giving a slight shrug in assent, “he’s right. I know it’s hard to believe, but once you’re in that arena, all the rest—the lights, the crowd, the noise—it all sort offalls away.” He looked over at Bellamy who nodded in agreement. “It’s just you and your teammates and your bending — all things that you know and things you can trust.”

“Besides, it’s not like you’ll be going in alone, Princess,” Bellamy said. “We’ll both be right there with you.”

“But if we lose, then that’s _it_ ,” Clarke protested, “Skaikru is out of the tournament and the season is _done_.” She gave a short sigh of exasperation at the blatantly unconcerned looks on Miller and Bellamy’s faces. “What if we lose and it’s my fault? What if—after all this effort—I fuck it up in the arena?” She asked, desperate for them to understand the gravity of the situation the same way she saw it. “What if—“

“Listen, Princess.” Bellamy said, his tone somewhat stern. “If we didn’t think you were capable, _we wouldn’t have offered you the spot on the team_.”

“But—“

“And playing ‘what if’ games for the next few days isn’t going to help _anybody_. Miller and I both know that you can do this, alright? So start goddamn believing it.” The clear note of finality in his words persuaded Clarke that he wasn’t willing to hear anything else on the subject, so reluctantly she bit back her next words, instead choosing to slowly nod her understanding.

“Good? Great — now, time to actually get down to business.” He went on brusquely. “The first thing we need to discuss is your name.”

“My… _name_?”

“Eloquently put, as always, Bell.” Miller interjected, shaking his head at the look of confusion and uncertainty that had crossed Clarke’s face. “What he means is, we need to talk about the name we give to the public, the name that we use to introduce the new member of Skaikru. You don’t want your mother—or most anyone, for that matter—finding out who you are, and we’d also like very much to keep our new waterbender _so_ it’s in all of our best interests that you don’t go by ‘Clarke Griffin’ when we’re in the ring.” The idea was not an unfamiliar one as she and Octavia had discussed something similar when the younger Blake had first introduced the notion of Clarke auditioning to become a pro-bender. Still, Clarke hadn’t quite managed to adjust to the idea that their once-hypothetical scenario was about to become a reality.

“We couldn’t really give a shit what name you choose,” Bellamy added, “just needs to be convincing and something you won’t forget.”

“Do I need to come up with it now?” Clarke asked. 

“No, Princess, not right this instant. Just needs to be sometime before the match in a few days.”

She nodded, pensive, when another thought occurred to her. “It’s true that I definitely can’t walk out there and introduce myself as ‘Clarke Griffin’—no arguments from me on that front—and I agree that changing my name will definitely _help_ …”

“But?”

“But Bellamy also recognized me almost immediately, even before I’d mentioned my name. Sure, I can fight under a pseudonym, but I can’t exactly change how I look. What if somebody recognizes me?” 

Miller and Bellamy exchanged a quick glance. “We talked about that as well,” Miller said, “and, honestly, neither of us could come up with an entirely foolproof solution. Best we could do is that you keep your helmet on whenever you’re in the ring and avoid getting your picture taken. With any luck, you’ll be too far away from most of the audience for them to recognize you. As for the cameras? Well,” he gave Clarke a sly grin, “Bell tends to soak up most of the spotlight anyway, so keeping you out of it shouldn’t be too difficult.” 

“ _Miller_ —“

“Second thing we wanted to talk about was the uniform.” Miller went on, making a point to ignore the unamused glare Bellamy was sending his way. “Unfortunately we won’t have time to get one fitted to your size before our next match. We will still have Murphy’s old gear, though, and everything is mostly adjustable. It certainly won’t be _ideal_ , but it should work well enough until we can get you things of your own.” 

“Speaking of,” Clarke said, doing her best to ignore the sudden and unexpected feeling of warmth at the idea of a Skaikru uniform of her own, “what about Murphy? Have you two talked to him yet? I mean I’ve never seen him at practices so I assume he knows, but…”

“Not like the dick ever showed up anyway.” Bellamy said, voice low and irritable, “but yeah, we broke the news to him the day after we offered you the spot on the team.” He paused, evidently taking a moment to choose his next words carefully. 

“It could have gone better.”

“Which, to clarify, is Bell’s way of saying that he handled things like a jackass. As soon as Murphy began arguing our decision and trying to fight back, our dear captain decided that was the _perfect_ time to start antagonizing him until Murphy eventually just stormed out swearing that he’d get back at us for—and I quote—’this unbelievable bullshit’.”

“The phrase ‘you motherfucking piece-of-shit _bastards_ ’ was also tossed around quite a few times.”

“Like Bell said…it could have gone better.”

As Clarke looked back and forth between her two teammates, both not quite meeting her gaze and wearing somewhat sheepish expressions, she gave a small sigh and rolled her eyes. “Sounds like you two handled it with about the level of diplomacy and tact that I expected.” Ignoring their offended looks, Clarke laughed and shook her head. “In all honesty, I am sorry it didn’t go better. But I also promise that I will do my best to avoid being a similar disappointment.”

“Of that, we have no doubt.” Miller said, returning her smile. “Anyway, that was about the whole of what we wanted to say. So, I guess we’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Clarke affirmed, “same time, same place.” As she moved to collect up her things and headed for the door, she waved a quick farewell at Bellamy and Miller over her shoulder. Before she reached the exit though, she heard Bellamy call out from behind her.

“Remember, Princess, you can do this.” He said, his words sounding surprisingly sincere. “Besides, I have absolutely no patience for this self-deprecating bullshit, so why don’t you do us both a favor and start believing in yourself, alright?”

“Aye aye, Captain.” She said in response, lips quirking up into a small smile as she walked out of the room.


	13. Chapter 13

Holy shit.

“Remember, Clarke, just relax.” She heard Miller say as he helped her adjust Murphy’s slightly oversized uniform to fit as snugly as was possible on her smaller stature. “This is no different from any other drill or practice — it’s just you, me, and Bell.”

Holy _shit_.

“You’ve got this, Griffin. Make us proud out there.” Raven said, her voice coming from where she sat along the wall of the small side chamber that had been allocated to Skaikru before their match. Sitting on the same level as the ring itself, the room’s open fourth wall presented a front row view to the entirety of the arena, already packed to the rafters with pro-bending fans fervent and eager to see Skaikru return to the playing field after last week’s bye.

“You can handle me and Bell, Clarke — I promise you can handle whoever else steps into that ring.” Nearby where Raven sat, Octavia lounged against the wall, looking at Clarke outfitted in the Skaikru black with a grin of absolute pride.

_Holy shit._

“Hey, Princess, look at me.” Bellamy’s deep, quiet voice said from off to her left. She turned slightly to face her teammate, her breathing fast and shallow as she fought desperately to keep her fear and the overwhelming feelings of panic at bay. Then one of his hands was resting on her shoulder, warm and heavy and, somehow, so immensely _steadying_. He looked down at her, meeting her gaze and holding it as he gave a small, reassuring smile.

“Remember why you’re here,” Bellamy said softly. “You told me that this is something that mattered to you — something you wanted to be a part of. Remember the feeling from that first pro-bending match you went to that made you want to come back, that convinced you to give this a shot.” Under the feel of his hand on her shoulder, Clarke could feel some of the tension begin to drain from her muscles, her breathing slowing measurably.

“You saw something in that arena that spoke to you. You _felt_ it — and I know you did because I recognize it in the way you fight. It’s the same damn way that I feel every time I put on this uniform.

“So chin up, Princess, there’s no need to be afraid.”

She nodded slowly in response, something about his words doing more than she could explain or understand to calm her nerves, to fill her with a sense of surety and ease that left her ready and _eager_ to step into the ring. Seeing the shift that had washed over her, Bellamy nodded in satisfaction, stepping away, his expression shifting into a teasing grin.

“Besides, I do have my reputation to maintain.” He called over to her, words light as he made his own last-minute adjustments to his uniform. “How will it reflect on me if Skaikru’s newest member isn’t up to scratch? Better not let me down, Princess.”

Rolling her eyes back at him, Clarke gave a smile of her own and a mock salute. “Aye aye, Captain.”

With one last ‘good luck’ from Octavia and Raven, Bellamy, Miller, and Clarke stepped onto the moving platform that would carry them over to the arena as the lights in the stadium dimmed to be replaced by one spotlight projecting over the ring. As the platform began its slow progression over the water towards the arena, Clarke took a few more deep breaths to steady herself. In her periphery, she could see the slight shift of Bellamy’s head as he turned to give her a quick glance.

“Ready, Princess?”

 

—

 

“ _Please welcome back to the ring — Skaikru!”_

Before the announcer had even finished saying Skaikru’s name, the cheers from the crowd escalated exponentially, the sudden rush of noise hitting Clarke like a goddamn tidal wave, leaving a sharp and distinct ringing in her ears. As she stepped off the platform and into the arena, she was immeasurably thankful for the solid and reassuring presences of Miller and Bellamy standing beside her, each raising an arm in a wave towards the audience.

“ _Returning after last week’s bye, the rookies of Skaikru are stepping back into the ring to face off against their next opponents, and I’ll tell you this round is shaping up to be a close one. Also competing tonight for the next slot in the tournament, please welcome, the Black Jaguars!”_

Clarke had watched this process before — the introductions, the two teams stepping off their respective platforms and slowly making their way to the center line, all six pro-benders simultaneously shifting into position as they waited for the sound of the bell — she’d seen it before, and yet _nothing_ could have prepared her for the reality of standing in the ring herself. 

“ _Coming back to the arena after their two-week absence, Skaikru also returns with a new face in their ranks. Replacing previous waterbender John Murphy, Skaikru welcomes their newest member — waterbender Aren Charles. Making her pro-bending debut, Charles is certainly something of a wild-card in tonight’s match. Will she able to handle the heat of her first pro-bending test? Only time will tell, folks.”_

Murmured last-minute encouragements from Bellamy and Miller carried through the din of the crowd over to her, reminding her to stand tall as she walked with her teammates across the mat, the Black Jaguar benders forming a mirror image on the other side of the line. Upon reaching the center of the arena, Clarke followed Bellamy and Miller’s lead as they sank easily into their familiar bending stances, her own limbs shifting comfortably and without thought into position as the Black Jaguar waterbender did the same across from her.

_You can do this. You can do this. You can—_

The sound of the bell.

“ _And they’re off!”_

Without a moment’s delay, the Black Jaguar waterbender sent a series of rapid-fire shots towards Clarke, the first skimming the surface of her uniform before she managed to dive out of the way, weaving between the rest of the attacks as her feet skated lightly over the floor of the arena. In her peripheral vision, she could see Miller and Bellamy had quickly fallen into a synchronous rhythm to go after the Black Jaguar earthbender who was barely managing to hold his own as her Skaikru teammates beat him back dangerously close towards the zone two line.

_“Both teams putting up a strong fight right from the start as we kick off round one — Skaikru’s Bellamy and Miller already presenting a challenge as they push back the Black Jaguar earthbender—oh, and there he goes! Skaikru gains the upper hand as Bellamy and Miller send Black Jaguar’s earthbender soundly into zone two.”_

Meanwhile, with Bellamy and Miller distracted, the Black Jaguar firebender had turned her attention on Clarke, teaming up with her fellow waterbender to send a series of continuous shots that kept Clarke on her toes. Between the barrage, Clarke could barely manage to get in any shots of her own, focusing all her attention on the movements and attacks of her opponents as she waited patiently for an opportunity to turn the tables.

“ _Skaikru’s newest addition feeling the heat as the Black Jaguar water and firebender do their best to even out the playing field. But my word, folks, these shots are just not hitting her! With the Black Jaguars zeroing on in this rookie though, it is anyone’s guess how long she’ll be able to keep this up.”_

As much as it pained Clarke to admit it, the announcer was right — she’d gone on her own up against Miller and Bellamy or Lincoln and Octavia, but she’d never managed to keep herself alive this long and she could feel her movements slowing as the Jaguar attacks came dangerously close to knocking her decisively back into zone two. Making a desperate lunge out of the way of the Black Jaguar shots, Clarke landed poorly, stumbling to her feet as the Jaguar firebender hit her squarely in the side, sending her to the mat.

_“And with that sneaky one-two combo from the Black Jaguar benders, it looks like Charles will be swiftly saying goodbye to her hold on zone one and getting her first glimpse of zone two.”_

Shit _,_ shit _, shit._

But before they had a chance to blast her out of zone one, a series of earthbending discs collided solidly with the two Jaguar benders, catching them off guard and buying Clarke enough time to roll to her feet, pulling forward her own silvery streams from the troughs as she interspersed her own attacks with Miller’s to send the Black Jaguar benders reeling backwards. She gave Miller a quick nod of appreciation as he moved to dodge an attack of his own, feeling the rush of adrenaline as she finally had the freedom to put some of her new skills to the test.

_“Saved in the nick of time with the help of Miller, Charles will be holding onto her zone one position for a while longer. With the Black Jaguar benders pushed back to the edge of the zone one, it appears Skaikru may soon be getting the green-light to advance into Black Jaguar territory.”_

Working in tandem with Miller, Clarke sent jet after jet towards the Black Jaguar benders, both of whom tried to quickly bend their own makeshift shields as the Skaikru hits kept coming. With their relentless onslaught, eventually the Skaikru benders succeeded in beating through the walls of the Jaguars’ defense, sending them stumbling past the zone one line squarely into zone two.

“ _And indeed, folks, there they go! Still with plenty of time left in round one and Skaikru are receiving the go-ahead to move into Black Jaguar territory. They’ve taken a couple stumbles early on, folks, and unless the Jaguars start pushing back, this round could shortly be a Skaikru victory_.”

Together, Clarke and Miller worked at hammering down on the Black Jaguar water and firebender, barely letting them get a shot in edgewise as the attacks sent them closer and closer to the zone three line. A short distance away, Bellamy was delivering a similarly unrelenting barrage on the Jaguar earthbender, who’d already skidded over the line into zone three and was barely managing to bend his earthbending discs into a makeshift shield in time to blunt Bellamy’s attacks. Seeing her window, Clarke sent a rapid-fire series of her own shots, the jets of water singing with lightning-fast speed and pinpoint accuracy to slam directly into the Black Jaguar earthbender, catching him off guard and sending him falling off the back of the arena and into the water below.

_“And there he goes! With that sneak attack from Charles, Black Jaguar’s earthbender loses his zone three position and goes straight into the reservoir. It’s three-on-two, folks, and with this level of momentum, it seems like Skaikru might be on their way to securing the knockout that’ll win them this match.”_

With the Black Jaguar earthbender out of the way, Bellamy, Clarke, and Miller were able to focus all their attention on the two remaining benders, both of whom seemed to have given up on offense and were instead focusing solely on evading the Skaikru attacks. But under the onslaught of all three benders, eventually the Black Jaguar waterbender misstepped, stumbling slightly and failing to move out of the way of Miller’s next series of attacks. With brutal efficiency, the earthbending discs knocked her straight to the mat, her momentum carrying her over the line into zone three before she rolled to a stop just shy of the edge of the ring.

“ _Oh! Nearly knocked off the back after a series of decisive attacks by Miller, the Black Jaguar waterbender is still in this game but, my word folks, that was a close one. With time winding down in round one, though, it is anybody’s guess if Skaikru will have enough time to secure a knockout and the match victory.”_

Leaving Miller to focus on and finish off the Black Jaguar waterbender, Clarke and Bellamy zeroed on on the Black Jaguar firebender, outnumbered and outmatched as the Skaikru benders let loose a veritable storm of attacks that anticipated and countered her every defense, smashing through the feeble fire shields she quickly bent into existence and beating her back towards the zone three line.

_“And there she goes! Another devastating one-two attack from Miller that this waterbender just does not have the strength to counteract. With two of the Black Jaguar benders out of the game, it is three-on-one folks, and with the way Skaikru’s been playing this round, this is shaping up to be a knockout victory_.”

Spurred on by the momentum from Miller’s knockout, the cheers of the crowd crescendoing as the Black Jaguar firebender fell back farther and father, Clarke couldn’t help but feel un-fucking- _stoppable_. Working in tandem with Miller and Bellamy, all three members of Skaikru sent everything they had at the last Black Jaguar bender on the other side of the line, doing her utmost to weave through the Skaikru attacks, yet she could only outrun the three of them for so long. 

With time running out, the last seconds ticking away towards the final bell, the combined power of Bellamy, Miller, and Clarke’s attacks proved to be too great for the Black Jaguar firebender to evade. With one last desperate attempt to bend a shield to block Miller and Clarke’s joint assault, she was left unprepared and defenseless for Bellamy’s final blast that sent her careening past the zone three line and over the edge of the arena, tumbling with finality towards the water as the buzzer sounded.

Holy shit. Holy _shit_ — they’d _done it_.

“ _Skaikru wins!”_

 

_—_

 

To Clarke, the moments following the match—the deafening cheers of the crowds, Miller’s and Bellamy’s arms raised in acknowledgement of their victory, the final words of the announcer—passed by like a blur. Dazed, elated, exhausted, she barely felt capable of staying on her feet as Bellamy and Miller guided her back to the side chamber where they’d prepared before the match, eyes wide in amazement and disbelief, an unabashedly enthusiastic grin plastered across her face. Back in the room, Raven and Octavia both welcomed her with rib-crushing hugs and praise that essentially came down to varying versions of “Griffin, you fucking _badass_ ” and “we _knew_ you could do it”.

Despite how little Clarke had believed them heading into the ring, as it turned out, they’d been right.

As she began unbuckling and loosening the padded black armor of Skaikru’s uniform, the leftover adrenaline coursing through her system left her fingers shaking, the slight tremor causing her to fumble once or twice with the straps that secured the pads. Once she’d removed and stowed the armor, calmed a bit from her initial rush of giddiness and excitement, she became aware of the sheen of sweat that rested on her skin and the tremendous weariness that seemed to stretch down past her muscles and into her bones.

“So should we celebrate?” Clarke heard Octavia ask from somewhere behind her.

“Maybe not tonight, O.” Bellamy responded, for which Clarke was incredible appreciative. Much as she would have liked to go out in honor of her first Skaikru victory, more than anything else she just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for the next few days.

Recognizing the signs of exhaustion in the slump of Clarke’s shoulders and stance, Raven threw an arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick one-armed hug. “Come on, Griffin, let’s get you home.” Together, they gathered up the rest of Clarke’s things, waving farewell as they headed for the door.

“Don’t forget, Princess,” she heard Bellamy say, “practice tomorrow. Need to stay in shape if we’re going to do this all over again next week.”

“Right, right.” Clarke mumbled, rolling her eyes slightly at Bellamy’s relentlessness as she turned slightly to face her teammate and nod her understanding. “See you tomorrow.”

“Oh, and Princess?” He paused, giving her a small smile despite the look of questioning and mild exasperation on her face, his own expression light and genuine.

“Well done.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (alright, so I am several weeks behind in the show and have no idea what's going on canonically in s3 right now BUT I'd been missing working on this fic and decided to bring it back)
> 
> (and blessings to bowerbird for being my beta for this chapter - you stunning and ethereal cockatiel)

With the next pro-bending match only a few days away, Clarke’s life had settled into a steady and familiar routine that revolved around her training sessions with Miller and Bellamy. Every day, the three of them worked to identify and amend any potential weaknesses that might affect them in the upcoming match, both Miller and Bellamy—though Bellamy especially—ceaselessly pushing her to be better. 

“I did help you two win last week, didn’t I? Come on, Captain — that must count for something.”

“Yes, yes, Princess, you were very impressive. Now let’s see if you can do it again.”

By the time Clarke left the pro-bending arena after that day’s practice session, the sun was already beginning its slow and meandering descent below the Republic City skyline. Fastening her coat against the chill that blew in off the bay, Clarke set off in the direction of home, the electric lights overhead illuminating the emptied streets. 

While her feet carried her absently down the road, pavement scraping the soles of her shoes, Clarke tucked her hands into the lined pockets of her coat, feeling the bite of the brisk night air on her exposed wrists. Mind wandering and eyes roaming across the cityscape scenery, she turned into an empty plaza. Brimming during the day with errand-driven citizens, by night, the small square stood quiet and still, silent save for the occasional rustle of an awning or the brush of dust blown by a breeze across the pavement. 

As she made her way across the square, cutting a diagonal towards the street on the other side that would continue on in the direction of Griffin Estate, Clarke watched from the corner of her eye as a figure stepped out from one of the side-streets into the square, moving to intersect her route and placing themselves directly in her path. With the beams of streetlight slanting down at an angle, the figure’s face was cast in heavy shadows, their features veiled and obscured. Yet even with their identity a mystery, there was no mistaking the aggressive set of their stance, hands balled into fists and clenched tightly at their sides.

There was also no mistaking the fact that all the anger and fury radiating off the individual was directed solely and squarely at _her_.

Having no interest in engaging in any sort of confrontation with the stranger at the end of the square, Clarke turned to her right, figuring a series of side roads would allow her to bypass the individual and continue on her way home. As she shifted though, rotating away to find one of the plaza’s other exits, Clarke saw another figure step out from the shadows, effectively blocking that exit as well. 

Somehow, this was feeling less and less like a chance encounter.

As she turned back to face the first figure, she cast a quick glance to her left, unsurprised to find that the third street out of the square was covered as well.

Shit.

Glowing pinpoints of light flickered into the fringes of her periphery as one of the strangers gathered fist-sized flames in their palms.

Shit _._ Shit _, shit._

To her right, Clarke could see the second individual bend some of the cobbled stones from their place in the road, the slabs of rock hovering menacingly at their sides as they took a few steps forward in her direction.

Goddamn _fucking shit_.

“So,” the first stranger said, his voice low and arrogant, “you’re her.” He took a few steps closer, face still cast in shadow as his words carried clearly across the square. “I finally meet Skaikru’s new waterbender — Aren _fucking_ Charles.”

A quick look over her shoulder confirmed the existence of a fourth bender behind her, blocking her original entrance into the plaza. At first glance, Clarke couldn’t see either the telltale flickers of a firebender or the manipulation of the city’s stonework that would have pegged them as an earthbender. But then she noticed the glints of reflected light at the wrists, the glow of the lamps bouncing off the silvery sheen of coiled steel cuffs.

_Shit._

A metalbender. 

“And such a fucking _disappointment_.” He sauntered closer, raising his arms slightly, as if beckoning the other benders near to close in around Clarke. “Those bastards _betray_ me, kick me off the same fucking team I helped them create and for _what_?” By now, he was standing just a few yards away from her, jaw set in a tight line as he looked Clarke over _. “_ For some upstart _bitch.”_ He spat the words at her, his tone laced with contempt.

Up until now, Clarke hadn’t given much though to Skaikru’s prior waterbender.

She also never figured that _this_ is how she would first meet John Murphy.

Four against one weren’t great odds — but this wasn’t supposed to be a fair fight, this was supposed to be a lesson. This was supposed to be a punishment. With no one around to help and little chance of beating all of them on her own, Clarke knew she needed a way out — fucking _now_. But with the circle of benders around her tightening slowly like a noose of fire and water and steel and earth, there was no way they were going to let her go without a fight. 

And that was when Clarke appreciated the brilliance of the trap—why they had waited patiently for her to reach this spot exactly—and her fingers curled into fists in frustration.

She wasn’t just trapped and alone — she was also defenseless. Powerless.

_There was no water_.

Seeing her eyes scan around the square, seeing the slight notes of fear start to creep into Clarke’s expression, Murphy let out a humorless laugh.

“Shit, you catch on slow. That’s right,” he drawled, “can’t bend your way out of this one, Charles.” He paused, tilting his head, considering. “Well… _try_ to bend your way out this one. After all, seeing Skaikru’s last competition? I think we both know you’re not capable of much.”

Despite the undeniable feelings of fear and uncertainty creeping over Clarke, the arrogance and condescension in Murphy’s dismissive words sparked a slow burning rage within her, anger fueled by the contemptuous and disdainful way he looked her over, as if she and her skills weren’t even a threat worth considering.

As her fists tightened further, nails carving crescents into her palms, Clarke was damn determined to prove to him just how _wrong_ he was.

Not now though — not yet. Proud as she was of her accomplishments in the pro-bending arena, Clarke was painfully aware of the fact that any strength she had in a fight came from her abilities as a bender. Without it—and in the face of the four skilled fighters surrounding her—she couldn’t help but feel unbelievably goddamn _helpless_. Turning her head to glance between the four of them, Clarke’s thoughts distilled into the acute realization that she needed to get _out_ before Murphy and the benders he’d brought along beat and broke her past the point of repair. But with the four of them waiting just a few yards away in every direction, the loose circle they formed effectively ruled out any apparent exit, especially as she couldn’t rely on her bending to level the playing field. 

Except— _fuck—_ how did she not see it sooner?

If she didn’t have her bending, then neither did Murphy.

“So what happens now?” Clarke asked, finally finding her voice as she infused her words with more confidence than she felt. “You hurt me? Kill me? Lash out at Skaikru like some pissy teenager just because you couldn’t cut it?”

And as she watched Murphy’s eyes narrow, saw the slight clench in his jaw, it occurred to Clarke that antagonizing him further may not have been the smartest move.

But _fuck_ letting him think that she was afraid.

Instead of yelling though, or letting out any of that apparent rage, Murphy shook his head slowly, giving Clarke a curved feline smile.

“No — no, I’m not going to kill you. But to break you in just the right places to send you to the hospital? Beat you badly enough that Skaikru gets knocked out of the tournament? That’s _exactly_ what happens now.”

The movements of the other benders were barely more than a flicker in her periphery—a subtle shift of their stance, a slight bend in their knees, the flex and tense of their forearms—but after the repeated lessons drilled into her head by Bellamy, those telltale motions were enough. Barely milliseconds before a blast of flames and the crash of stone and the serpentine hiss of steel slammed into the spot where she’d been standing, Clarke dove forward at Murphy, a look of clear surprise and confusion crossing his face before she’d knocked him to the ground.

They collided with the cobblestones of the plaza in a messy heap of bruised limbs, Murphy’s knee thudding painfully into her head, her body knocking the wind out of him. Aware of the brief window of opportunity she had, aware that she had no chance against him once he regained his footing, Clarke pulled herself to her feet as fast as she was capable, ignoring the slight spin of the world as she pushed her legs to carry her into the labyrinth of side streets waiting a dozen yards away.

“Fuck!” She heard Murphy’s gasping yell from behind her as she ran. “ _Fuck_ — somebody _get her_! _”_

And she was close— _shit_ —she was so _close_ when a pillar of earth burst from the pavement, coming to a towering rest ten feet over her head, decisively cutting off her escape. Turning on her heel, Clarke threw herself to the side just as the fire and metalbender sent their next attacks her way. Though she managed to beat the bright flames that bit into the wood of the stalls and buildings behind her, she wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid the ribbons of razored steel, cutting through her sleeve into the skin of her upper arm, blood immediately beginning to run in bright streams down her skin. 

_Fuck_.

Behind her, the stalls and shops that lined the square rose up in tall, impassive lines, forming an unyielding barrier between her and the streets waiting on the other side. As Murphy and the three benders stalked closer, Clarke began moving along the edges of the square, eyes searching for any point of egress they might have overlooked. As the earthbender sent a series of stones her way that crashed into the woodwork on either side of her, Clarke couldn’t help but feel like the assholes were just _toying_ with her at this point — as if they too had recognized how powerless she was.

With splinters and fragments of wood settling around her from where the earthbender’s shots had landed, Murphy gave a quick inclination of his head towards the firebender, who took their cue to let loose a goddamn _inferno_ that sent Clarke diving towards the ground as the firestorm passed just over her head, the flames leaping up the flammable woodwork and catching fire in a bright orange blaze.

Pebbles digging into her palms from where she’d landed on the ground, the pain in her arm sharp and biting, Clarke watched the four of them walk closer, barely managing a desperate lunge out of the way as the earthbender sent another series of shots towards her, not quite fast enough to avoid some of the blows that slammed into her side. 

_Get up, Griffin. Get up, get up, get up_.

Far too slowly, Clarke pulled her weight up onto her palms, jaw clenched as a throbbing ache pulsed in her side, radiating out from her undoubtedly bruised ribs. And then there was a fist wrapped around the fabric of her shirt, drawing her up just long enough to see the expression of fury on Murphy’s face before his fist collided squarely with her cheek, his knuckles opening up a shallow cut under her eye as her vision swam slowly.

“Fucking _bitch_.” Murphy muttered, his voice low and contemptuous as he kicked Clarke in her injured side, her body slumping to the ground as the flames behind her began to climb the building’s walls, plumes of dark gray smoke snaking upwards into the sky. From somewhere, Clarke could hear shouts of alarm as the fire built steadily, the low groan and creak of the weakened wood threatening to buckle and collapse.

“Cops’ll be here any minute — we have to go.” One of the benders said to Murphy, pulling him back a few feet from where he’d stood in front of Clarke. Murphy gave a distracted nod, still looking down at where she lay on the ground, blood oozing sluggishly down her cheek.

“This isn’t over,” he said at last, his expression heavy with disdain as he turned away, heading off into the shadows with the other three benders in tow.

Soon, Clarke heard the telltale sounds of Republic City’s metalbending police force making their way through the streets towards the plaza, and as appreciative as she was for their timely intervention, the realization soon dawned on her that she could no more be discovered here by the police than Murphy and his gang. Bruised, beaten, bloody — there’d be no explanation that would satisfy her mother’s questions without going into the whole messy truth of the situation. 

Until she had a chance to recover her strength and heal her wounds, Griffin Estate was out. But with the police steadily approaching, it was becoming swiftly apparent that Clarke would need some sort of refuge or hideout in the meantime — where though? Raven’s garage was clear across town, as was Lincoln’s gym — too far to make it without being caught or collapsing. She would have turned to Miller, but with no idea of where he lived, that proved to be another dead-end. As for Octavia —

Wait, _Octavia._ She’d mentioned to Clarke that she and Bellamy shared an apartment in the attic of the pro-bending arena, the space quiet and secluded and little more than a few blocks away. If she could just make it back to the pro-bending arena, she’d be fine.

Clarke allowed herself a few more moments of lying immobile in the plaza, body curled protectively around her injured side, taking slow and steady breaths to try and manage the pain, before she summoned her last reserves of energy and pulled herself upright. On unsteady and graceless feet, Clarke stumbled out of the plaza, body half-bent around her bruised ribs. As the sound of the police’s arrival filled the plaza, she walked with slow and unsure steps back in the direction of the pro-bending arena, eyes focused determinedly on where the arc and spires of its silhouette waited on the horizon.


	15. Chapter 15

“Octavia?” _Please be home, please be home._ “Look, I know it’s late and I'm sorry for turning up like this, but _please_ — I need your help.”

After what had felt like an hour—though it couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen minutes—Clarke had stumbled through one of the side entrances of the pro-bending arena, her entire body one relentless pulsing _ache_. Innumerable stairs and corridors later, she’d finally found her way up to the attic of the arena and the door that marked Octavia and Bellamy’s apartment. Now, slumped against the doorframe to take some of the pressure off her aching ribs, Clarke pounded the door with the hand of her uninjured arm, praying to whoever might be listening that Octavia was home.

“Hello?” Clarke called again, her voice echoing slightly in the narrow passageway as she beat on the door with her fist. “ _Octavia?_ ”

As she waited, she heard the sound of heavy footfalls on the other side of the door and a distinctly masculine voice call back, “she isn’t fucking _here._ So whatever the _fuck_ you want—“

And then the door was abruptly open, taking with it Clarke’s fragile purchase against the doorframe. Dimly she heard Bellamy call out, “ _Clarke_?” as she stumbled forward over the threshold, barely registering his alarmed expression and the worry in his voice as he’d said her name. Caught off-balance, she put up her hands instinctively to brace herself, the dirt-streaked skin of her palms landing on the white fabric of his t-shirt, fingers curling reflexively around the lines of his shoulders. She assumed that the arm he’d wrapped around her waist and the hand splayed loosely on her back must be the products of similarly instinctive actions.

“What, no ‘Princess’?” She murmured into his shirt, feeling dazed and exhausted. “Shame, Blake. It was starting to grow on me.”

“Clarke, what _the hell_ —“

“I was looking for Octavia,” she said, looking up from where her forehead had landed against his chest, her expression now hesitant and unsure, caught off-guard at the sight of him and the feel of his muscles shifting below her fingertips. A slight stiffness had crept into her tone, threaded with notes of uncertainty as she tried to make sense of the myriad of emotions tugging at the lines of his face.

“I figured.” He said, settling on a small half-smile as he looked down at her.

“But I didn’t mean for— _shit_ —look, I’m sorry for the disturbance,” she said, stumbling over her words as she rushed through the explanation. “I just needed a place to go, but if I’d known it was just you here…I mean, if I’d known Octavia wasn’t home…fuck it, I should leave.” Avoiding that impenetrable look in his eyes—concern, maybe?—Clarke let her hands slide from his shoulders, making a move to step away when she felt his arms tighten around her.

“ _Fuck’s sake_ , Clarke,” Bellamy said softly, his words taking on a hint of exasperation, “you do _not_ need to be sorry and you sure as _shit_ don’t need to leave.”

“You sure? I can go, honestly—“

“ _Stay —_ as long as you need to.” He met her gaze squarely, his tone leaving no room for opposition. “Alright?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Clarke said, a small smile tugging at her mouth as feelings of relief flooded through her exhausted limbs, hoping something in her tone or her expression might convey the gratitude she wasn’t quite able to put into words. Nodding slightly in satisfaction, Bellamy let his arms fall away,and Clarke couldn’t help but notice the sudden absence of warmth where they’d rested securely on the small of her back. Without the support he’d offered, she slumped a little against the wall, feeling utterly absent of the energy to keep herself upright. Subtle as the movement had been, Bellamy’s brow creased slightly at her evident exhaustion.

“Come on,” he said, inclining his head towards the interior of the apartment. “There’s a couch just inside and you look like you need to get off your feet — that is, unless you’re more comfortable here against the doorframe.”

“It is a tough call, but I suppose I could be persuaded to the couch,” Clarke conceded, pulling herself upright as she followed him into the apartment, weary legs moving mechanically as he led her over to a faded couch against the wall. With exhausted and graceless limbs, she sank down onto the faded cushions, wincing slightly as she eased her weight off her injured side.

“What is it?” Bellamy asked, concern knitted into his expression as he watched the pain flash across her face.

“Just my ribs — think they might be bruised.” Clarke said, fingers skimming across her skin as she pressed lightly to assess the damage. 

“Oh, is that all?” He said, the attempted levity in his words at odds with the tense expression that had crept over his face. He knelt on the floor in front of her, fingertips brushing her hair behind her ear as his eyes roved carefully over the bruise painted in stormy shades of blue and purple around her eye, the line of clotted blood stretched over the cut across her cheek. 

“ _Shit_ , Clarke — look at you.” Bellamy said quietly, eyes drifting to the gash on her arm, to the hand over her side supporting her ribs. “Should I get a healer?”

At that, Clarke gave a small snort, shaking her head. “You do remember who my mother is, right? No, Blake, I _am_ a healer — I just need some time to get my strength back first.” She paused, taking a quick inventory of her wounds. “The bruises and shallow cuts I can handle on my own, but I might need you to help me clean and patch the cut on my arm.” She shifted slightly, inhaling sharply as pain radiated out from her bruised ribs. “Might need you to help bandage my side too — bruised bones can be a little tricky and I don’t know if I’ll be up to it tonight.” Her words broke off, eyes glancing back up to meet Bellamy’s. “Shit, if you don’t mind, that is. I swear I don’t mean to impose and if you don’t want to help, I get it—“

“Stop.” Bellamy said, his tone calm yet commanding. “Dammit, Clarke, of _course_ I’ll help. Just tell me what you need.”

“Are you—“ But the look he gave her—eyebrows slightly quirked, mouth set in an exasperated line, the barest hint of amusement at her relentless stubbornness—was answer enough.

“Alright then,” she said, conceding a small smile of her own, “for now, hot water and bandages should do it.” Bellamy nodded, heading off with quick and purposeful strides to grab what she’d needed.

After several unsuccessful attempts to remove her coat, ribs protesting any time she shifted or stretched her side too far, Clarke gave a short sigh of frustration. “Can you help me with my jacket?” she asked Bellamy as he returned, balancing a bowl of water and stack of bandages. He gave a small grin at the irritated look on her face, setting his armload down before kneeling on the floor in front of her.

“As you wish, Princess.” He said, ignoring the distinctly unamused expression on her face as his hands deftly unfastened the buttons on her coat, easing the thick fabric off her shoulders with careful and gentle motions she hadn’t quite expected from him. Slowly, he helped her arms out of the sleeves, careful not to jostle her side or brush the wound on her arm as he slipped the coat off, letting it fall to the cushions of the couch behind her. 

“Ribs first,” Clarke said, tilting her head towards the stack of bandages Bellamy had set down. “A couple long strips wrapped around my middle a few times should do it. I just need to keep them in place and ease a little of the pressure until I’ve got a chance to heal them properly.”

As Clarke ran her fingers over her side, feeling out the source of her pain, Bellamy pulled a couple bandages from the stack, turning to face Clarke when a slight frown creased his features.

“Will you need to…I mean, can I get to where they’re injured if you’ve still got your…” He trailed off hesitantly as Clarke looked up at him in confusion, understanding suddenly dawning across her features.

“Oh, shit — no, no probably not.” She gave him an apologetic look. “Do you mind?”

“No, no,” he said quickly and—was that—flustered? She raised her arms over her head and he reached for the hem of her shirt, the callused tips of his fingers brushing momentarily against the skin at her waist, the sudden warmth of his touch eliciting a slight and involuntary inhalation from her.

“Are you okay? Did I—“

“No, no,” she said hastily, faint shades of salmon-colored blush lightly brushing her cheeks. “I’m fine.” He paused as he tried to read the expression on her face, but she nodded in assurance for him to continue.

Carefully, he lifted the fabric up and over the bandeau she wore around her chest, focusing intently on peeling the sleeves from her arms without reopening the wound on her bicep, the congealed blood on the fabric sticking fast to her skin.

“You alright, Blake?” Clarke asked, her voice infused with notes of teasing levity at the graceless way he dropped her ruined shirt on the ground, the way he kept his eyes pointedly averted until they could met her gaze. “Can’t imagine that this is a first for you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s usually under different circumstances.” Bellamy said, clearly unamused by the entertained grin Clarke wore. But then his eyes drifted down to her side, to the tie-dye of bruises patterned in brutal shades of black and indigo that marred the pale skin of her stomach. His look darkened, tension creeping into the lines of his muscles as his eyes traced the inkblot pattern of welts on her skin.

“ _Fuck_ , Clarke,” he said with a slight exhalation, looking up at her as confusion and anger flashed in intermittent bursts across his face. “What _happened_ —“

“Later.” She said quickly, forestalling his question. “I’ll tell you later, I promise. Bandages first.”

He nodded slowly, reaching for the strips he’d set aside and followed her instructions carefully as she directed him on the best way to wrap her injury. Slowly, he ran the bandages securely around her middle, fingers skating lightly over her skin as they ensured the fabric lay flush against her side. When he’d wrapped the injury to her contentment, he bound off the bandages, meeting Clarke’s eye as she let out a small sigh of satisfaction at the relief provided to her aching ribs.

“Not too shabby, Blake.” She said appreciatively, feeling out his handiwork. “If you weren’t such an arrogant hothead, I’d almost say there’s hope for you yet as a healer.”

“Careful, Princess.” Bellamy cautioned, responding with a grin of his own. “I do have a reputation to maintain.” As she continued checking on her bandaged ribs, his eyes wandered to the gash on her arm and the blood that trailed in dried and congealed rivulets down her bicep and forearm. “Is that next?”

With her view unobstructed, Clarke twisted her arm to get a better look at it, frowning slightly. “Yeah…damn, though, that might need stitches,” she mused, “but I won’t know for sure until it’s cleaned up and I can get a better look at it.” She looked back at him. “Would you?”

“Of course.” Bellamy assured, hands reaching for one of the bandages and the bowl of water. With the easy fluidity of a familiar motion, he submerged the fabric and wrung out the excess — but rather than starting with the site of the injury as she’d expected him to, he lifted her hand and began cleaning the rivulets of dried blood that had run down her arm past her wrist. Carefully he washed the back of her hand, the grooves and lines between her fingers, the stains around the beds of her nails.

“You don’t have to—“

“Let me, Clarke, please. You won't tell me what happened — at least let me do this.” 

And though she was tempted to protest further, to assure him that she could handle it herself, there was a note of earnestness in his voice she’d never heard before that persuaded her to stay quiet. He moved up from her hand to her forearm, easy and sure strokes of the cloth wiping away the remnants of dried blood, the repetitive and soothing motions help to ease some of the tension from her muscles. Then he was working up past her elbow towards the wound itself, eyes lowered as he fixated on carefully cleaning the clotted blood and dirt and fragments of shattered stone from her skin. Once he’d finished, he leaned back slightly, giving Clarke the room to inspect the cut.

“How’s it look?”

“Not too deep,” she said, nodding appreciatively at his careful and thorough work. “I think I can probably get away without stitches.” Still examining the wound, she considered, “one bandage should do it…maybe two.” As she looked up, though, she found Bellamy already waiting with the clean strips in hand.

“You know I could handle it,” she said, but the words were half-hearted, the protest issued almost as a reflex. When Bellamy took her arm without responding and began carefully winding the bandage around her arm, she gave up arguing further, instead allowing herself to relax back into the cushions, ignoring the slight look of amusement on his face as she resigned herself to his help.

“Bellamy?”

“Princess?” He kept his eyes lowered as he fixated on the task at hand, running the fabric in secure layers around her bicep.

Clarke took a slow breath, watching Bellamy’s focused expression as he worked.

“I wanted to say, thank you, for this. For letting me stay when I showed up so unexpectedly, giving me a place to rest, helping to take care of me — all of it. I just want you to know how,” she paused for a moment, as if considering her next words, “appreciative I am — how grateful. Especially since we’re not, exactly…”

Her words trailed off uncomfortably, the end of the sentence left unsaid. Without looking up from his careful and thorough efforts, Bellamy quirked an eyebrow in response to her unfinished comment.

“Aren’t exactly…what? Out with it, Princess — no need to spare my feelings.”

“Friends.”

And—just for a moment—his hands seemed to slip, his fingers fumbling from their steady pattern at her words. He didn’t look up though, didn’t meet her eyes as she watched his expression carefully, confused at the reaction her comment seemed to have prompted from him. 

It had flashed across his face just for a second, so slight and smoothed over so quickly she wasn’t sure if she imagined it.

But—if she hadn’t known him better—she almost would have said he looked _hurt_.

Without shifting his eyes away from her arm, he quickly tied off the bandage with deft and practiced fingers, leaning back to consider his work. The movement was slightly sharp and stiff though, as if he suddenly felt the need to put some distance between them, to sever the delicate and careful touch of his fingertips on her skin.

“Don’t mention it, Princess.” He said, his tone resuming the familiar gruff edge he usually had when he addressed her — an edge, she only now noticed at its return, that had been absent since her arrival at the apartment. 

“After all,” he continued lightly, “Miller and I went through all this effort to find a new waterbender — can’t exactly let you go and get yourself hurt now that we’re finally getting some traction in the tournament.” But the easiness in his tone didn’t quite match the blank expression on his face, and as he rinsed his hands in the bowl of water, Clarke couldn’t help but feel like his every action indicated a desire to shift the conversation away from her prior comment as fast as he could. Then he was standing, moving away across into the apartment and leaving her alone on the couch.

“Your old shirt is pretty trashed,” he said over his shoulder, “but let me grab you one of Octavia’s now that the bandages are in place.”

“Oh, alright.” She called back, slightly caught off guard at his abrupt departure and the sudden change of pace. “Sounds good.”

Before she could give his behavior any further thought, though, he’d come back over to the couch, handing her one of Octavia’s shirts with a carefully blank look. She pulled it on quickly, the fabric falling comfortably over her newly bandaged arm and ribs. As she tilted her head up to thank Bellamy, she noticed that look of curiosity and concern had crept back over his face.

“Alright, Clarke, enough stalling — what happened?” Bellamy asked, a slight crease in his brow as he considered her, a hint of sternness in it words.

“I promise it all looked worse than it is.” 

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“Really, I’m fine—“

“ _Bullshit_.” He shook his head, words blunt. “Don’t try and spin that. You were _fine_ when Miller and I left you a few hours ago. I want to know what the _fuck_ happened between then and now.”

She paused, not quite able to meet the expectant look Bellamy was giving her.

“Clarke,” he said, watching her carefully, “trust that I’ve been in enough fights to recognize someone who’s been beaten half to shit. I need to know— _please_ —tell me what happened.”

So she did.

As she described what happened, beginning with her arrival at the plaza and the ambush orchestrated by Murphy, she watched the concern and uncertainty slowly drain from Bellamy’s face, replaced by a simmering rage that _burned_ just below the surface of his barely-restrained expression. When she began recounting Murphy’s words to her, his hands tightened into white-knuckled fists, wisps of steam rising from the spaces between his fingers as he struggled to keep his bending under control, fighting to subdue the flames that threatened to spark from his skin. At that, Clarke broke off, watching him hesitantly, waiting until he gave her a slight nod to go on before she resumed her story.

She moved on to the moment the other benders had attacked, her words slowing, voice hesitant as she remembered the feeling of being surrounded in the plaza — the attacks that had missed her by millimeters, the ones that had cut through her skin and bruised her bones. As she relived the memory of that moment, the fear that her adrenaline had kept at bay all night snuck up on her suddenly, stopping her words and sticking in her throat.

“Clarke?” Bellamy asked, looking at her with concern.

“I just…” The words were hesitant and slow to come. “Without my bending, I was just so fucking _helpless_.”

At that, Bellamy shook his head slightly and let out a small exhalation, the sound almost sounding like laughter.

“Princess, there are a lot of words that come to mind to describe you, but ‘helpless’ sure as _shit_ isn’t one of them.”

“But I couldn’t do _anything_!” Clarke protested. “I couldn’t fight back, I couldn’t protect myself — _nothing_.” She lowered her head, her words bitter and defeated. “All I could do was run away.” 

“Knowing when you’re outnumbered isn’t a sign of weakness. You did everything that you could in that situation — fuck’s sake, Princess, what more do you expect of yourself?”

“I told you I don’t like to lose.”

“ _Bullshit_.” He said soundly. “You can’t do that to yourself. Getting stuck in a no-win situation is _not_ losing, understand?” 

“I—“ Clarke paused, looking up to meet his steady and assured gaze, relenting finally. “Yeah, alright.”

“And look, we can stop if you want,” he added. “You’ve been through hell tonight — it’s fine if you don’t want to say anymore.”

But she shook her head determinedly. “No, no — I’m okay. After all you’ve done to help me, it’s only fair that you know what happened.” 

“Clarke, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes, I do.” She said carefully. “More than that, I want you to know.”

With slow words, she resumed her story. As she ran through the injuries she’d sustained, she watched Bellamy’s eyes track the trail of cuts across her skin, jaw clenching as he took in her bruised cheek with fresh eyes, now knowing whose knuckles had left their mark. When she’d finished, she leaned back on the couch, watching him carefully as she waited for his reaction.

“That mother _fucking bastard_.” 

He stood, his movements sharp and charged, flames crackling in bright bursts across his hands. The fire rippled in waves over the fabric of his skin as he began pacing back and forth in front of the couch, the heat from his overwhelming rage leaving scorch patterns on the hardwood floor. Gone was the look of care and concern, the delicate and careful motions from just moments earlier — instead his anger had forged his limbs into lines of sharpened steel.

“Bellamy—“

“I’m going to fucking _kill_ him.”

“Bellamy, wait—“

“Wait? Fuck’s sake, Clarke — he could’ve _killed_ you, and you want me to _wait_?”

“ _Bellamy._ ” Clarke interjected, pulling herself to her feet and placing herself in front of him. “Just _stop_ for a moment.” She reached out, one hand landing on his wrist, the slight pressure seeming to ground him as the fire slowly subsided from his fingertips. She waited there for a moment until he met her gaze, his breathing relaxing. 

“Thank you. Listen, I’m not saying Murphy doesn’t deserve whatever hell you want to rain down on him,” she paused, a hardened expression of her own stealing onto her face, “but I _am_ saying that you’ve fucking _lost it_ if you think you’re going without me.”

“Clarke, _look_ at you.” Bellamy protested, eyes lowering to the bruise on her cheek. “You can’t fight like this — hell you’ve barely got the energy to stay on your feet.”

“True — and I’m in this condition thanks to _him_. Are you honestly trying to talk me out of getting back at that asshole for what he just put me through?” 

“This was about _me_ , Clarke — his payback for me kicking him off the team—“

“So, what? I’m just a victim in all this?” She shot back. “A helpless _princess_ who needs someone to ride to her rescue? _Fuck_ that, Bellamy. This was a shot at Skaikru — a team that, last time I checked, I am now part of.” She looked up at him, her gaze holding his closely.

“You want revenge? So do I. And trust me when I say that Murphy has earned every fucking shot you want to throw at him.” A steely edge crept into her words. “But this is _not_ a battle you get to fight on your own.”

“You’re still injured.” Bellamy objected, but some of the heat had faded from his tone, his eyes drifting to where her hand rested on his arm.

“So we don’t go tonight. I heal, and we wait, and after we give this some proper fucking _thought_ ,” she said, the jab at his impulsivity not lost on him, “we finish what the _fuck_ he was ignorant enough to start.”

Clarke looked at Bellamy’s face, watching her words land, the consideration he gave as he slowly shifted over to her way of thinking.

“Fine, fine.” He conceded at last. “We wait.”

“Besides,” Clarke said, “we have another match coming up anyway and _that_ needs to be the priority for now. Murphy wants us out of the tournament and I’ll be _damned_ if I’m gonna give him that satisfaction.” 

“Fair point, Princess.” Bellamy said, concern taking over where rage had so recently etched lines into his freckled skin. “Healing you needs to be our focus right now. And, speaking of, I think you should stay here for the night.”

“Wait, _wait_ , I can’t—“

He shook his head, unfazed and unconvinced by her words. “Clarke, you’re _exhausted_ and we both know you’re not up for healing yourself tonight. Besides, it’s not exactly as if Griffin Estate is close by. Stay, get some rest, and you can take care of your injuries in the morning. Octavia will be gone for the rest of the night — you can have her bed. I doubt Councilwoman Griffin will be pleased but you can always tell her you ended up staying the night at a friend’s.” A brief, undecipherable look crossed his face. “Since this is Octavia’s place too, it won’t really be a lie.”

Clarke didn’t miss the reference to her previous comment about the two of them. She hadn’t meant anything by it though — hadn’t meant to insult him. _Hell_ , she’d been trying to _thank_ him. Had she really misread his perception of their relationship so completely?

“So?” He prompted, breaking off her train of thought.

“I suppose it makes sense,” Clarke conceded slowly. As she spoke, she felt the heavy drag of weariness in her muscles, recognizing the truth in Bellamy’s words that she had absolutely none of the energy she needed for healing. A solid night’s rest would do her a world of good, would save her the trouble of walking back home, and she couldn’t deny the sense of safety she felt in the Blakes’ apartment.

“Then you should turn in,” he said. “Come on, I’ll show you where her bed is.”

Nodding absently, Clarke followed Bellamy across the apartment, feet dragging slightly on the wood until they reached Octavia’s bed. Mechanically, she slipped beneath the covers, instantly feeling the demands of sleep tugging her eyelids shut. Faintly, she felt Bellamy pulling the blankets over her, the light softening as he dimmed the lamp next to the bed.

“Good night, Princess.” He said softly, beginning to move away.

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” Clarke murmured, words slurred as she began fading into unconsciousness. “By saying we weren’t friends. I thought you didn’t _like_ me.”

“Clarke?” 

“How did you describe me?” She said, her breathing slowing as she drifted off. “A—what was it?—spoiled melodramatic, goddamn princess.”

And this tired, this close to sleep, she couldn’t tell if the next thing she remembered was real or part of a dream. But she could’ve sworn she felt Bellamy’s hand resting lightly on her shoulder, his thumb tracing a gentle line back and forth as he let out a defeated sigh.

“Dammit, Clarke, you honestly think that's how I still see you?”

But by then she was already gone, his words landing on deaf ears as she slipped fully into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man, oh man - okay this is by far the longest chapter I've written for this fic and I hope that makes up for the slight delay in posting. it was also incredibly fun to write and I sincerely hope that you all enjoy it. I also want to thank you all for the supportive and encouraging comments on the last chapter - I've missed writing this world and coming back to it has felt very rewarding.
> 
> (as a slight note re: clarke's injuries - technically speaking, you are /not/ supposed to bind bruised ribs to heal them. that said, binding them can relieve some of the pain, and Clarke is only keeping on the bandages for a few hours until she has a chance to mend them properly. she also doesn't have access to the kinds of medication or painkillers that modern sites recommend for treating bruised ribs - so I figured the bandages would work as a temporary fix.)
> 
> as always, thanks to my marvelous beta bowerbird for her help editing this chapter - you are a radiant and dazzling barn owl and have my complete and utmost gratitude


	16. Chapter 16

When Clarke awoke the next morning, her brief disorientation at waking somewhere beyond the walls of her bedroom was quickly subsumed by the full-body _ache_ radiating out from her stiff and battered muscles. As she shifted lightly between the sheets, sharp twinges and brief bursts of pain called attention to the myriad of bruises littering her skin, each painted in watercolor shades of navy and indigo. Still sore, still half-asleep, her ears soon picked up on the sound of a somewhat-whispered argument between Bellamy and Octavia, their not-quite-hushed voices carrying easily across the open floor plan of the apartment over to where she lay.

“…that son of a _bitch_!” Octavia swore, her words carrying a fury and a bite that recalled Bellamy’s rage from the night before.

“Trust me, O,” he responded, voice heavily steeped in a simmering anger of his own, “I’m _well_ aware.” 

“ _Fuck_.” A slight sigh, then the sound of her feet tracing a back-and-forth path across the floor. “Fuck — is she okay?”

“A little shaken, a little bruised,” Bellamy paused, his words considering. “But I think she’s going to be fine.”

_Yeah, damn right I am_. Clarke thought, her eyes still closed and body cocooned lightly by the covers. _As if a few bruises could knock me out of the fight so goddamn easily_.

“So, what’s the plan? What are we going to do about Murphy?”

“ _We?_ ” The sound of Bellamy scoffing, a half-exhale, half-snort as his feet padded with muted _thuds_ over the hardwood. _“_ No, O — this isn’t your fight.”

“Like _hell_!” And hearing that familiar tone in Octavia’s voice, Clarke didn’t need her eyes open to imagine that signature stubborn expression she knew would be sketched clearly onto the younger Blake’s face. “Clarke is _my_ friend, too, and you’re trying to tell me I don’t get to do this for her? Are you _kidding_ me, Bell?”

“This was about Skaikru—“ Bellamy began, but his words sounded hesitant, his rebuttal already losing steam in the face of Octavia’s fire.

“That’s how you want to argue this? Really? _Fine.”_ Clarke wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam curling from the pockets of Octavia’s almost-certainly clenched fists. “ _I’m_ the one who trained her. _I'm_ the one who told her to audition for the damn team. So—keeping in line with that _bullshit_ chain of logic that I know you’re using to blame _yourself_ for this—it’s _my fault_ that she ended up in Murphy’s crosshairs last night.” Even across the apartment, Clarke could hear the unyielding tone that crept into Octavia’s words. “And that sure _as_ _shit_ makes this my fight.”

A brief pause before Bellamy’s relenting, “fucking _hell_ , O — fine, fine.”

“Damn straight.” Some of the fire started to fade from Octavia’s words, her tone losing its steely edge in favor of something slightly more self-satisfied. “You really thought you could keep me on the sidelines for this one?”

“Apparently not.” Bellamy said, his words spelling out his reluctant and resigned defeat. “When we go after Murphy, you get a spot on the front line. Happy?”

“Very.” 

“Good — then drop this for now. Clarke’s still asleep, but when she wakes, getting revenge is the _last_ thing I want her worrying about.” She could hear Bellamy starting to move around the apartment, the sound soon accompanied by the soft _clink_ of dishes being pulled from cabinets and water starting to boil. “We have a match in a few days to focus on and she still needs to heal — that _has_ to be her priority.”

“Speaking of, I’m honestly a little surprised she came here for help.”

“Don’t be — she was looking for you.” Clarke’s brow furrowed slightly at the clipped and abrupt tone of Bellamy’s words. Did he…was that _bitterness_ Clarke heard in his voice? “And I’m sure I made a poor fucking substitute.”

“Bell, _stop_.” The light and delicate sound of Octavia’s footfalls over the hardwood joined the faint hiss of something cooking on their stove. “Fuck’s sake — it’s not _Clarke’s_ fault you decided to kick off your relationship by being such an unbelievable ass. Can you honestly blame her for still feeling a little unsure around you?”

“Look, that was—“ Bellamy began weakly, but Octavia continued on firmly.

“She trusts you as a teammate and she relies on you when it counts. As for anything else? Just be patient and maybe soften your bark around her a little. Honestly, Bell — how can you expect her opinion of you to change if you always stay so guarded?”

“Wait — what is her opinion of me?”

“ _Ha._ You want to know? Ask her yourself.” A low and amused snort from Octavia. “The big, bad, captain of Skaikru too afraid—“

“Careful, O.” Bellamy cautioned, his words cutting across Octavia’s teasing remarks and drowning out the rest of her sentence. Even with the last words lost to the wind, Clarke couldn’t help but feel as if the conversation had taken a turn into distinctly more personal waters, and that any continued silence on her part would most definitively be crossing the line into downright eavesdropping. Taking advantage of the momentary lull in conversation, she let out a series of drowsy murmurs, stretching her arms as her legs slid and shifted between the sheets. With slow and bleary movements, careful not to disturb her still-bruised ribs, Clarke pulled herself upright, blinking her eyes open into the bright light that streamed through the apartment’s airy and expansive windows.

“Clarke!” Octavia exclaimed, abandoning Bellamy in the kitchen to move quickly over to where Clarke lay. Brushing wayward strands of hair out of her face absently, she folded her legs under her and took a seat at the foot of the bed, eyebrows drawn together slightly in a look of curiosity and concern. “Clarke— _shit_ —how are you?”

“Been better,” Clarke conceded ruefully, one hand absently massaging the knots and kinks tangling the muscles in the back of her neck. “But I’ll live.”

“What about your ribs and your arm?” Bellamy asked, leaving the kitchen and coming to a standstill at a slight distance from where Clarke and Octavia sat, his arms crossed and a similar expression of concern pulling at his brow.

“Still a little sore, but that’s to be expected.” Clarke looked up at him, holding his gaze steadily, her tone shifting into earnestness. “Bellamy, I can’t thank you enough for your help last night — _honestly_ , if you hadn’t been here…I’m not sure what I would have done.” And Clarke hoped he could hear and understand the genuine sentiment in her words, that the relief and comfort and _safety_ he’d offered her had meant more than she could fully express.

That he wasn’t a disappointment or a substitute — that he’d been _exactly_ who she’d needed.

He ducked his head slightly at her words, dark curls falling over his forehead as his expression twitched slightly. “If you say so, Princess, but I think we both know you’re more resourceful than you give yourself credit for.” Before Clarke could say anything else—and blatantly ignoring the amused and intrigued glances Octavia was giving both of them—he inclined his head towards the bandages on her arm and the cut on her cheek. “Are you ready to try healing yet? Do you want something to eat or drink first?”

Mindful of the hunger pangs she’d been feeling since she woke, Clarke gave a slight smile. “If you’re offering, then yeah, I could eat. Wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea either.” 

From where she sat on the bed, Octavia gave a nod, pulling herself to her feet as her dark hair shifted lightly around her shoulders. “I’ll grab you some food — Bell, would you get her whatever else she needs?” 

“Thank you both — again.” Clarke added hastily as Octavia walked off. “And I’m sorry for having shown up like this. I promise, I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can.”

“Clarke, shut up.” Octavia called over her shoulder as she headed to the kitchen. “We both know you’re too smart to be acting like such a dumbass. You have _nothing_ to apologize for.” Her head ducked briefly behind a cabinet as she moved through the kitchen with an effortless grace. “Bell, if she keeps up with this bullshit, would you please knock some fucking sense into her?” Octavia paused for a moment from her efforts, one hand waving absently from where she stood. “You know — in a strictly metaphorical sense.”

“Nice save, O.” Swiveling his head away from Octavia, Bellamy looked back at Clarke, turning his attention to her but still maintaining something of a distance between them. “Do you want to wait until you’ve eaten or get started now?”

Already frustrated at the ceaseless aches and pains vibrating along the lengths of her muscles, Clarke pulled herself out from under the covers. “Now, I think. I’m pretty goddamn sick of seeing reminders of how Murphy and his fellow assholes got the jump on me.” At that, Bellamy nodded slowly—carefully—as if he shared a similar dissatisfaction at seeing the bruises brushed over her skin. “Plus, the sooner I start the healing process, the sooner I’m good as new.”

“Can I get you anything?

“Just water.” Clarke said, hands feeling out her injuries to assess their extent. “Heated would help, if that’s not too much trouble.”

Giving her an amused smile, Bellamy snapped his fingers, lighting a small flame that hovered over the tip of his fingernail.

“Trust me, Princess — I think I can manage.” Leaving Clarke wearing a somewhat-exasperated, somewhat-amused smile at his unnecessary showmanship, Bellamy turned to head off and gather what she’d needed.

But as he left—though he honestly wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it or not—he could’ve sworn he heard her say quietly, “I do.”

A few minutes later Bellamy returned, carefully balancing a pot of water with small wisps of steam eddying gently upwards from its surface. Clarke had shifted out from under the covers in his absence, sitting cross-legged on the bed and unwinding the bandages wrapped around her arm and ribs to better examine the wounds underneath. At the sound of his footsteps, her head lifted, that look of amusement returning as he set the water down at her feet, taking a few steps back as if now unsure of what to do with himself.

“You can stay,” Clarke said as she pulled a stream of water from the container with an easy flick of her fingers, “if you want, that is.” 

“I won’t be a distraction or get in the way?”

Clarke shook her head slightly. “Unless you were planning on setting something on fire, I think you’ll be just fine.” With a wry grin at her words, Bellamy pulled over a chair and took a seat, leaning in slightly as his eyes scanned curiously over Clarke’s precise movements.

Shifting her hands gently as if conducting some silent orchestra, Clarke waved the water over to her arm, letting the beads coat her skin in a shimmering and rippling film. A soft glow began to suffuse the sleeve of water encircling her arm, the light pure and snow-white as the bruises below began shrinking and fading until they eventually disappeared altogether. As Clarke bent the water back into the container to examine her work, Bellamy let out a low whistle, his gaze wandering slowly over the unmarred skin of her arm. Catching the look of surprise and mild disbelief on his face, Clarke gave him a teasing smile as she flexed her refreshed muscles.

“Impressed, Blake? Can’t imagine this is your first time seeing a healer.”

He shook his head slightly, words temporarily lost as he met Clarke’s chiding expression with a slight smile of his own. 

“Doesn’t make it any less amazing, Princess.” 

Methodically, Clarke moved on to the gash on her arm, closing the injury until the metalbender’s attack had been reduced to a pale pink scab. As she worked, slowly attending to her aching ribs and her myriad of bruises, she’d catch Bellamy’s eye from time to time, that look of unabashed astonishment never fading as the brutal track record of Murphy’s assault soon faded to little more than faint whisperings and echoes of where his marks had been. Distracted by her efforts, she’d barely noticed him slowly drawing closer throughout the process until she finished with the final plum-colored bruise sketched around her eye and the thin cut on her cheek — hadn’t realized how _close_ he’d gotten until his hand reached up hesitantly to her face, his thumb skating a gentle line over the newly-healed skin of her cheek.

“How’s it look?” Clarke asked, the lack of space between them noticeable in a way profoundly different from the moments of nearness they’d shared the night before. If she’d wanted, she could’ve counted the number of freckles painted in pointillist fashion over his skin and the number of lashes framing his dark, searching eyes. Her breath suddenly felt light and shallow in her lungs as she watched the gentle rise and fall of Bellamy’s chest beneath his shirt, her nerves hyper-attuned to that small patch of skin that practically vibrated under the warm and lightly-callused pad of his thumb.

And as her eyes eventually drifted up to his, it took her a moment to realize that they were regarding her with the same attention to detail and the same level of intensity.

“It looks perfect, Princess.” Bellamy said finally, voice low and earnest. Glancing up to meet her gaze, he gave her a slight and genuine smile that brought a light to the lines of his face in a way she’d never seen before. “Not that I’d expect anything less.”

But then there was a small crash from the kitchen and the sound of Octavia’s whispered, “shit, _fuck_ ”, the sudden noise serving to bring them both back to their surroundings. Somewhat hesitantly, Bellamy let his hand fall away, standing and moving back to restore the previous distance he’d placed between them, face once again composed in a carefully blank mask. And unsure what it had meant— _fuck,_ if anything at all—Clarke followed his lead, rearranging her expression into a casual smile as she moved to help Octavia clean the mess in the kitchen. 

“Thanks, Clarke — _shit_ , this is what I get for trying to do too much at once.” Octavia said as they swept up the fragments of the plate that had shattered on the floor, shaking her head in annoyance.

“Don’t be. Honestly, this feels like the least I can do.” Clarke reassured her, brushing her hair behind her ear, fingertips running briefly over the stretch of now unbroken skin where Murphy had punched her the night before — where Bellamy’s hand had just been.

“You off, Bell?” Octavia called, looking over Clarke’s shoulder to the apartment’s entrance. From somewhere behind her, Clarke heard Bellamy say something vague and nonspecific about plans he’d made, but as she turned her head to the space where he’d been standing, she only just caught a glimpse of him shrugging his shoulders into the fabric of his jacket and the arc of the door swinging shut behind him as he slipped out of the room.

“Did you take care of what you needed to?” Octavia asked, disturbing Clarke’s distracted and meandering thoughts. “All healed?”

“Yeah, yeah — feeling a _hell_ of a lot better.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Octavia gave her a wide smile. “You know, everyone’s waiting to see if Skaikru’s rookie member gave a fluke performance last week or if she’s actually got what it takes to last in the ring.” She bumped Clarke’s shoulder with her own, giving her a slight, mischievous smile. “And I can’t have you out there giving me a bad name.”

“Trust me,” Clarke said, returning Octavia’s grin with a sincere smile of her own, “wouldn’t dream of it.” And as she pulled herself to her feet, following Octavia over to the table by the window with a full and unbroken plate in hand, her every movement felt conspicuously absent of the pains that had so crippled her the night before.

With their next match only a handful of days away, Clarke could forget about whatever the hell had just happened with Bellamy, whatever the hell was going to happen with Murphy. 

Because— _fuck—_ she’d worked too goddamn hard to get to this point just to lose focus and throw it away now. If anyone was wondering if her performance the week before had been a one-hit wonder, she’d be more than happy to show them just how _wrong_ they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah man -- once again, apologies for the delay in posting a new chapter. for this one, I was a little torn about where I wanted to go with Bellamy and Clarke's relationship, but after 37k words (holy /shit/) of slow interactions, it only seemed fair to give you all a little hint of the romance that might be developing.
> 
> that said, we still have quite a ways to go.
> 
> anyway, hopefully you all like what I decided to do with this chapter and are willing to bear with me regarding where I'm going to take the story next. your comments and kudos are endlessly appreciated as is your interest in this niche crossover story I'm having so much fun writing. you're all wonderful and hopefully this newest chapter doesn't disappoint.
> 
> as always, my everlasting gratitude to my wonderful beta bowerbird for her help and insight in editing the chapter. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I couldn't do it without you -- you bird nerd.


End file.
